


Broken Bones Returning Home

by Giroshane



Series: Broken Bones Returning Home!Verse [1]
Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Transphobia, Secret Relationship, Tres leches, trans!Manolo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giroshane/pseuds/Giroshane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Two spouses, three children, and all the comforts of domestic life could still not get the great Joaquin Mondragon to settle down."</p><p>It has been seven years, but a soldier is still a soldier, and one day Joaquin comes home with something hounding on his heels. Something bigger than any of them could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_There are screams all around him. Some of them are coming from him._

_Is he even alive anymore?_

_His pain tells him yes. Yes he most certainly is._

_Is he even conscious anymore?_

_Barely. The world is moving around him but he can't focus on much more than the pain pain_ pain _._

_He hears their laughter in the flaming trees around him. He can't let them catch him again or he'll never make it home._

_Home to Maria. Home to Manolo. Home to Valentina and Teodoro and Luciana. Home._

_He has to make it home for them._

_It's hard for him to breathe and he uses the bandolier that isn't torn as a sling for his hand. His mouth is filled with the copper taste of blood and his body_ burns.

_He has to keep moving but every step sends spikes of agony up his leg. Are the voices getting closer?_

_Maybe they are and maybe they aren't, he can't tell anymore. But something is coming closer. Something fast._

_He coughs from the smoke in his lungs and he stumbles to the ground. He would scream if he wasn't convulsing from the coughing fit that won't stop._

_He can't stop. He can't fall now. He has to make it home._

_He starts dragging himself forward, pulling with one arm and pushing with one leg. He doesn't get far before whatever fresh hell is coming for him steps in front of him._

_He reaches up weakly. Maybe they'll put him out of his misery._

_A snout brushes under his hand gently, and he sobs with relief._

_"Plata...ayúdame...please..."_

_Plata, gorgeous Plata, courageous Plata, even with his blurred and blacking out vision, he can see the whites showing around her eyes as she whickers and crouches down almost completely along his right side. Barely coherent praise and thanks tumble from his lips as he throws his leg over the saddle. He reaches across and grabs the reins with his good hand._

_“Go, Plata.”_

_The horse whinnies and stays put. He isn’t riding properly. But the voices only grow louder. There’s no time._

_“Plata, por favor, just go, please, we have to go, ay _ú_ dame, please....” He pleads desperately. The horse whinnies again but slowly rises. He rights himself as much as he can, but as he does something whizzes past his head and his left ear explodes in agony._

_“IR PLATA!” He screams. The horse needs no further prompting, bursting into the high speed gallop she’s known for._

_His breath is still coming in ragged gasps and all he has strength for is leaning forward, head on the back of Plata’s neck._

_Everything else comes to him in flashes._

_The fire and laughter fading away. Everything quiet except for the pounding of Plata’s hooves. The sense of numbing cold and wet rain. Silence. Pain._

_He doesn’t think he’ll make it, but then suddenly Plata is stopping, stopping for the first time since they started (How long has it been?) and a cacophony of voices surrounds him (Does he know these voices?). He reaches out, but it’s far too much. The world tilts and goes dark._

_Through the pain and agony he only hopes he made it home._


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was especially bad this time. Maria felt it in her bones.

The sun was setting, the children were playing, Manolo was singing. As Maria relaxed on the front stoop of her home, she smiled. Today was perfect. _Well_ , a part of her thought grimly, _almost_. This perfect day was missing someone.

       Two spouses, three children, and all the comforts of domestic life could still not get the great Joaquin Mondragon to settle down. While the hero came home as often as possible, nothing would make him stop riding away every now and then, chasing the tales of bandits and criminals to their source. Maria supposed she couldn’t grudge him too much: every now and then wanderlust would seize her as well, and then neither of her husbands would be able to stop her from riding alongside Joaquin into a new adventure. Occasionally the same would happen to Manolo, but he was never as adventurous as his spouses; it could be seen in the line of medals woven into Maria’s braid and the lone medal that Manolo wore around his neck like a talisman.

       So no, Maria couldn’t judge. But that didn’t stop her, or anyone in the family missing the Hero of San Ángel. Especially after a month and a half.

       “Querida,” Manolo’s concerned voice broke her out of her thoughts, “is everything alright? You’re frowning.”

       “What? Oh!” Maria shook her head, replacing her frown with a smile. “Lo siento, mi amor, I was just thinking…” She trailed off, staring out towards the city gates. She could just see the tops of them from here.

       Manolo took her hand gently.

       “I miss him too.”

       Maria leaned into him, returning his grip.

       “It always gets worse when it gets close to his return.” Manolo continued quietly. He was right—the heartache for their missing third always grew when it came close to whatever date Joaquin said he would try to be home by. A combination of anticipation of his return and fear that…well…

       It did no good to dwell on the worst.

       “One of these days I’m going to weld him to a chair.” She murmured. Manolo laughed.

       “You’ll do nothing of the kind, Maria, if only because that means you’ll have to be welded to a chair too.”

       “I’m not as bad as he is!” Maria protested indignantly. Manolo shook his head, chuckling.

       “Yes, yes you are. You just have better self-control.”

       Maria grumbled, pinching her husband’s thigh; he squeaked involuntarily. He glared as she laughed.

       “Mama! Papa!” Valentina practically tripped over her own feet, the trademark Sanchez curl in her hair bouncing as she ran. When the youngest of the family was born, unrest ruffled the town. With bright red hair and green eyes, there was no doubt that she did not look like Manolo. Of course they dutifully ignored the rumors and gossip (except for the one occasion Maria nearly murdered her own father, which was thankfully although begrudgingly prevented). The problem solved itself—for the most part—when Valentina showed the unmistakable Sanchez passion and talent for bullfighting at an extremely young age. And that bouncy little curl helped, too.

       “Sí, mi’ja,” Manolo laughed as his daughter leapt into his arms, barely allowing him any time to set his guitar aside. “What’s got you in such a rush?”

       “Anselmo’s here! Anselmo’s at the gate! He looked really jumpy! He kept asking for Mama! I think Vater’s home!” The 5-year-old cried excitedly. Teodoro’s head popped out of the huge book in his lap.

       “Really?” There was elation in his voice. Even Luciana stopped wrestling with Chuy to listen.

       “Now, now,” Maria got to her feet before the children started climbing the walls with excitement. She could see a figure by the gate, so Valentina was telling the truth, at least, “Did Selmo say it was Vater?”

       Valentina’s grin faded and she fiddled with her father's shirt buttons.

       “No…” in a flash, the grin was back, “but he always runs to tell us when Vater is home!”

       Maria huffed a laugh. “Alright then, we’ll see.”

       She walked across the front yard, immediately recognizing Anselmo at the gate as she approached. The little boy had grown so much in the past seven years, but he had never stopped being the messenger of the town; thankfully the years had taught him some tact, and he no longer kicked open doors screaming to the high heavens—although that did not stop him from opening doors quickly and yelling. The boy was a fountain of enthusiasm. Not so now.

       When she could clearly see his face, she stopped cold. He was bouncing with energy, but it wasn’t out of happiness or excitement. His eyes darted around quickly and overall he looked…scared. Maria bolted to the gate, ignoring Manolo’s concerned call.

       “Anselmo?” She pressed urgently. Her heart was beating like a hammer.

       “It’s bad,” He said, voice quiet, confirming her worst fears. “I don’t think he beat whatever he tried to fight.”

       It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her. She wanted to stay frozen, but knew better.

       “Manolo,” She called over her shoulder, “take the children inside.”

       “Maria, what—”

       “ _Now_.” She snapped. He heard it in her voice.

       “Come on, niños,” He said grimly, hefting Valentina in his arms, “Let’s go inside.”

       “But whyyyyy?” Valentina whined.

       “Is something wrong?” Teodoro asked wisely. The oldest of the three at ten years old, he was incredibly perceptive for all he was quiet. Maria had grown completely smitten with him, teaching him alongside the other children at the orphanage. Manolo and Joaquin had quickly grown fond of Teo as well, and the decision to adopt the shy little boy had been unanimous. The Posada-Sanchez (-Mondragon) household quickly became more truthful, however, as Teodoro—or Toro, as Valentina called him when she was too young to pronounce his full name—had an uncanny ability to sense lies.

       Manolo changed tactics.

       “Of course not, Toro,” He ruffled his son’s curly hair, smiling, “It’s just dinnertime. Who wants to help me cook?”

       “Me!” Two children chorused (and a third nodded vigorously), completely distracted by the prospect of helping Papa cook. They practically flew into the house, Manolo holding the door for them. He shared one worried look with Maria before going inside himself. This was not the first time Joaquin had come back injured, but something was especially bad this time. Maria felt it in her bones.

       She turned back to Anselmo. “Take me to him. Tell me what happened on the way.”

       Anselmo nodded, turning on his heel and running, knowing full well by now that Maria could keep up.

       “He was slumped over Plata when she rode in,” He explained as they weaved through the quiet streets of San Ángel, “He was barely riding her at all—he was almost falling out of the saddle, and he was pretty much unconscious. There was a lot of blood everywhere. Plata was really dehydrated and weak, too—like she’d been riding for days.”

        Maria tried to keep calm as the news was presented to her. Joaquin would never push Plata like that, even if he was in need of medical treatment. Which meant Plata had realized what state Joaquin was in, and had brought him home. The mare was oddly aware of her rider in that sense, and right now Maria was grateful for it.

       “Where is he now?”

       “They took him to el médico. They would have taken him to you, but the doctor’s home is closer and they didn’t want to risk making his injuries worse.”

       “I understand.” It was hard to make her voice audible. They continued the journey in silence.

       The doctor’s practice was buzzing with activity—most of it from the people gathered outside. Many were gathered by the front door, and all of them were whispering to each other about their hero’s return. They parted like the Red Sea for Maria, falling silent as she passed. Anselmo remained outside, nodding to her solemnly.

       Her father and a few of his men were in the front room of the house.

       “Mi’ja! What are you doing here?” Her father cried, surprised. Internally Maria rolled her eyes. Why wouldn’t she be here? Even if Joaquin wasn’t (officially or publicly) her husband, he was still her best friend. “Where’s Manolo?”

       “Manolo is watching the children.” She said simply. It was for the best—she could never focus properly when panicking, and Manolo could never handle blood or gore as well as she could—a fact her father never seemed to grasp. She addressed one of the soldiers.

       “Where is he?”

       “Up-upst-stairs—” He stammered before waffling under her father’s glare. The general then turned a gentle eye to his daughter.

       “Mi’ja,” General Posada implored, “the doctor and his nurses are—ah—patching him up as we speak. It would be best if we wait.”

       As much as—for once—her father was right, Maria wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle being in the same room as him for very long, especially as agitated as she was. Besides, she had helped the doctor in the past with a few rudimentary skills from Spain; they trusted each other completely for that and one other thing: the doctor was the only one who knew Manolo’s—and subsequently Valentina’s—secret. Better to try and fail than not try at all. Without a word to her father she headed up the stairs.

       “W-wait!” Her father cried with indignant anger, “Maria, he’s come from battle. A woman is not fit to see those kind of injur—”

       “Are Dr. Chavez’s nurses not women?” she shot back coldly, not stopping, “Why are you not spewing your misogynistic garbage to them?”

       “ _Maria!_ ” Her father yelled. It went unheeded.

       Maria continued up the stairs to the hallway on the second floor. There was no one around, but Maria located the room he was in by the sound of people. She walked to the door slowly. She stood in front of it silently for a moment, steeling herself. She needed to be strong. She knocked on the door.

       “Sí?” A nurse popped her head out, voice low and distracted. She perked up when she recognized Maria however. “Ah, Señora! Doctor!” the nurse called over her shoulder. “Maria Posada-Sanchez is here!”

       “Send her in!” Dr. Chavez’s voice was muffled through the door, but distinguishable. “We need her.”

       The nurse beckoned her in, and Maria’s mind raced. What could they possibly need her for?

       She stopped dead when she saw him on the bed. She felt her heart crack.

       “Joaquin…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter! Cliffhanger no less ;)  
> Stay tuned!


	3. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why do the stars always shine the brightest when everything is so wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains kinda graphic descriptions of nasty injuries. If you are uncomfortable with this, skip the second paragraph, which is where most of it is.

       Anselmo had said that it was bad, that there had been blood everywhere, but that didn’t prepare Maria for the sight of her friend, her husband…in _tatters_.

       They had cut away his uniform; it lay in a bloodstained, shredded heap in the corner. His skin was bruised and covered in cuts and scrapes and sweat, and Maria wished to God that that had been the worst of it, but it wasn’t. There were several large gashes across his chest and stomach, and burns stretched across his chest, shoulders and much of his left arm. There were bandages wrapping his head and around his left eye—it must have been wounded again, and his nose had definitely been broken again; his neck was badly bruised, like he had been strangled. They had attached a splint to his left leg, but what drew most of her attention was his right hand. Her stomach roiled. It was almost completely severed. This was what Dr. Chavez was trying to tend to while his assistants tried to clean and bandage all of Joaquin’s other wounds, but Joaquin was half-conscious and struggling feebly.

       “I think he traveled through the rain to come home,” The doctor explained grimly (over Joaquin’s weak chant of “no, no, stop, I need—please—need Ma—no, please stop, no…”), “but now he’s ill. He’s running a fever and he’s delirious. We think he’s been asking for you or your husband, but we can’t be sure. Most of what he says is either in German or undecipherable. I was hoping you could help calm him down. We need to keep him relaxed and still if we want to have any chance of saving him. This,” Dr. Chavez gestured to Joaquin’s hand with a nod, “is obviously not the full extent of his injuries.”

       “I’ll try my best.” Maria murmured, moving almost mechanically to the other side of the bed, careful to keep out of the way of the three nurses darting about. She wondered faintly if they could hear her heart pounding.

       Kneeling down by the head of the bed, she laid a tentative hand on Joaquin’s arm, avoiding the burns.

       “Joaquin.” Her lips moved but no sound came out. Swallowing thickly, she tried again, willing her vocal chords to work.

       “Joaquin. Joaquin, it’s Maria.”

       Joaquin immediately struggled harder, fighting to turn his head and face her, as much as that obviously hurt him.

       “Meine Krieger, sind sie das? Hilf mir—Gott hilf mir, meine Göttin, meine kostbare Göttin, meine—”

       “Sí, sí,” Maria hushed him, recognizing his pet names for her, taking his hand in her own and rubbing his arm. He melted into the (bloodsoaked, but Maria forcefully ignored that) sheets under her touch, “It’s me, I’m here. You’re home now, Joaquin, you’re safe.”

       Wrong thing to say.

       “ _Safe!_ ” He almost bolted upright, head whipping from side to side, and all three nurses had to help keep him down. “Not safe! Not safe! Mein Gott—everywhere--burning—burn fire—burn everything—Gott Maria and Manolo and _the CHILDR_ —”

       “No, no!” Maria tried, weaving her fingers through hair matted with blood to force him to see her and only her; one of the nurses tutted—there was a cut in his neck she had been trying to clean, but that would have to wait a goddamn moment. “No fire, no burning, everyone is okay, Joaquin. The whole family is all right. Querida you need to relax.”

       Joaquin protested even as he sank back down. Looking at Joaquin straight on was almost terrifying, not for the blood on his face but the vacancy in his eye. He was looking at her in fear and pain but he wasn’t _seeing_ her.

       “No—n-no, can’t relax—have to—Maria, Manolo—the—the m—have to tell, have to tell…”

       “What is it, Joaquin? What do you need to tell me?” Maria pleaded.

       “B-bandits. Have to tell—north—San Ángel. Have to tell, have to warn—feuer—so viel feuer--tried to fight, couldn’t fight. C-couldn’t fight, I couldn’t fight it _why couldn’t I_ —”

       “Shh, it’s okay,” Maria did her best to keep him from becoming frenzied again, “what else?”

       “Maria, Maria…” He rasped. He was crying. Weakly he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. She held it there, stroking his knuckles. They were bloodied. “Meine schöne Kriegerin, meinem heiligen Göttin—y-you have to fight—have t-to stop—have to stop—”

       “Stop what?” Maria whispered.

       “Medals—so many—I couldn’t fight—couldn’t stop—they have medals—can’t stop—m-must stop…”

       The color drained from Maria’s face. Medals and bandits that couldn’t be stopped? That was scarily familiar. She swallowed.

       “We’ll fix it, Joaquin. We’ll stop it, I promise. You need to rest.”

       “You’ll fix it?” He whimpered. She nodded.

       “Sí. Rest.”

       “But—but—”

       “Tell him stories,” Dr. Chavez suggested quietly, bent over Joaquin’s other hand, “Distract him.”

       “Hey, hey,” Maria crooned, following the suggestion, “Remember that book you got Teo on horses, when you went to Mexico City last? He finished it. I caught him up past midnight reading by candlelight. He almost cried when I took the book away. But it explained why he looked like he smeared soot under his eyes.”

       Joaquin stared at her, completely enraptured. Even if he couldn’t understand what she was saying in his current state, her voice soothed him. He had settled down completely, hand falling to his side. Maria kept holding it while Dr. Chavez and the nurses did their work.

       “And, and he’s started responding to ‘Toro’, too. He swore to us he never would, but he’s stuck with it now. Valentina keeps trying to make him her practice bull. It only works when she hides his books. She’s so mischievous sometimes. Manolo claims she gets it from me…She—she got Luciana to laugh.”

If Joaquin had been truly cognizant his jaw would have dropped. The little orphaned girl was the reason behind Manolo’s lone medal, her and about twenty other kidnapped women he rescued after bandits had razed their village to the ground. Luciana was sweet and playful, but tragically mute: the monsters had cut out the then 5-year-old’s tongue and traumatized her into complete silence. It was only recently the now 7-year-old had tried speaking words again, but she much preferred communicating through sign language (which the entire family was eagerly learning alongside her) and simple hand gestures. And she never, ever laughed, or made any other sort of noise unless she absolutely had to.

       “Valentina got Luciana to laugh,” Maria repeated shakily. “They snuck into our room and stole all of mine and Manolo’s hair ribbons. Valentina sat Lucie in front of the mirror and proceeded to tie them into her hair. _All_ of them. Lucie was smiling so big when we walked in on them; her hair was just sticking out in every single direction. But I think Manolo’s face is what took the cake. He was so astonished,” Maria laughed at the memory, even though tears were falling down her cheeks, “We all laughed, and she did too. I’m so proud of her.”

       She continued on like this, telling him every story she could think of. She told him about how Manolo wrote a song about vegetables to try and get the children to eat them (it failed); about the time Chuy had decided to take a bath—by jumping in with the girls' during theirs; about how Valentina practically dive-bombed into the lake once it was warm enough to swim again. When she had told him all that he had missed, she started re-telling old stories from Spain. She didn’t stop even when Joaquin’s eye had long since fallen shut, a faint smile on his face.

       Dr. Chavez was the one to break Maria out of it. It was like waking from a trance.

       “Gracias, mi querida, for all that you’ve done,” He said kindly, catching her between tales. Maria nodded. She had spoken so much and now the words wouldn’t come.

       “And I’m very sorry Señora,” the doctor continued, “but we need to turn him over to dress the wounds on his back. He’s asleep now, and you need a break. Let Rosario bring you to another room so you can rest. We’ll fetch you when you can see him again.”

       Maria nodded, rising to her feet slowly. Bones cracked from stiffness and she staggered. The doctor caught her. Maybe she wasn’t as out of her trance as she thought. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

       “You’ll get me when I can see him again?”

       “I promise.” Dr. Chavez assured her. He let a nurse—Rosario—take her then, gently guiding her out of the room and into the one next door. It looked almost identical to the room she had just left, except lacking a bloodied soldier. She let Rosario sit her on the bed.

       “No se preocupe, señora,” Rosaria said, “I will go get you some water. Lie back and relax. It’ll do no good if you fall ill too.”

       Maria obeyed mechanically as the nurse left and quickly returned with water as she had promised. Once certain that Maria had settled, Rosario left again to help the doctor next door.

       She had told Maria to rest, but Maria’s nerves were too strung out. The glass of water shook in her hands, and it seemed like forever before she had garnered enough strength to raise it to her lips and drink. Once she had, she placed the glass on the bedside table and lay back against the pillow. Dr. Chavez was right, she should rest, but try as she might she couldn't. All she could manage were fitful, dreamless dozes. After the fifth time she gave up, rising from the bed and walking to the window. Sunset had come and gone, and the moon was high in the sky. She lifted the latch and opened the window, letting the spring breeze cool her down. The tension in San Ángel was almost palpable. It felt like almost everyone was waiting for the fate of their hero with bated breath.

       “Yet the stars shine brighter than ever,” She said to herself. “Why do they always shine the brightest when everything is so wrong?”

       “Because without them we wouldn’t be able to hope.”

       She started and turned. It was Dr. Chavez. He looked tired and grim.

       “How is he?”

       “It appears as if his back was whipped, but we managed to bandage the lacerations. We’ve managed to staunch the bleeding of most of his injuries, in fact, but he has lost a lot of blood, and he’s still running a high fever. I’ll do everything I can, but…” the doctor sighed. “I’ll have higher hopes if he makes it till morning.”

       “ _‘If’_ ”? Maria squeaked. It felt like an iron barbell had been chained to her heart, and now it was dragging her down into the depths.

       “Lo siento, my dear, but that is all I can promise. He’s in very grave condition. He’s still asleep, but you can stay with him if you wish.” Dr. Chavez gestured to the doorway. She nodded in thanks and went. She almost had to keep herself from running to Joaquin’s side.

       He was on his back again, but paler than ever, and most of his torso was covered in white bandages. He glistened with sweat in the candlelight, and his breathing was very shallow. Someone had thoughtfully placed the chair Dr. Chavez had been using at the far bedside where Maria had knelt earlier, and this is what Maria crossed to and sat in. There was a bowl of water and a cloth on the bedside table; she dampened the cloth and wiped his forehead.

       “Ay, mi amor,” She whispered, shoulders shaking, “por favor mantente fuerte. Para mí, por favor.”

       “Maria?”

       Maria drew back quickly. Manolo was in the doorway, completely haggard. She leapt to her feet.

       “Manolo? Wha—what are you doing here, what about the children?”

       He smiled weakly. “No se preocupe. Chuy’s watching them.”

       As her mouth fell open in horror, he rushed to explain.

       “No, no! I didn’t leave them alone,” he scratched his neck, looking at the ground apologetically, “Lo siento. You looked like you needed a laugh. After I put the children to bed, Sister Ana stopped by to check up on us. She offered to watch them tonight so I could come.”

       Maria sighed in relief. Her husband was terrible at “reading the room” sometimes.

       “How is he?” Manolo stared at Joaquin warily. He was probably glad he hadn’t come earlier—Maria knew that if he had his dinner would have upended. Just the same, he looked as devastated as she felt.

       “He’s…” Maria remembered what the doctor told her. Her voice cracked. “Not good.” It was getting harder to speak, like her throat was closing up. “Dr.—Dr. Chavez says he might not m-make it—make it through—through the—the—”

       She broke down completely then, sobs wracking her body. Warm arms wrapped around her and she buried her face into Manolo’s chest, muffling her loud cries. He held her tightly, like she was a lifeline to him just as much as he was to her. She just couldn't stop _crying_. 

       “I wanted him home,” she wept, “this is _not_ how I wanted him home.”

       “Hey, hey,” Manolo pushed her away to look into her eyes. He was crying himself. “You asked him to be strong for you, didn’t you?”

       She nodded, sniffling.

       “Well,” He took her hands in his, “We need to be strong for him too.”

       They embraced each other again. That’s when she smelt it.

       “Have you been drinking?” She pulled away, raising an eyebrow in question. He sighed.

       “Lo siento, Maria, it’s just—after the kids were asleep, I was so worried—I hadn’t heard from you, all Sister Ana knew was that Joaquin was home but he was injured, and I didn’t know what was going on, I just—I needed something to calm my nerves a little bit.”

       “It’s alright, I probably wouldn’t mind a drink myself, if it wasn’t such a bad idea.”

       Manolo nodded. She was right, of course. Drinking while upset was a recipe for disaster when it came to Maria. Joaquin would know more about that than Manolo though: the last time she had done anything of the sort she had been mourning _him_. She had snuck out the night after he died, forcing the Rodriguez brothers to get her alcohol with threat of physical violence. Joaquin had told Manolo afterwards that the three were practically shaking they were so utterly terrified, and…that he had never seen Maria so undone. And now was not a time for undone-ness.

“B-bad idea….is s-such an underst-tatement."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, I have messed with canon slightly, and extended the events of the movie by an extra day (between the dawn Maria died and the sunset of Manolo's resurrection). In writing this fic it just felt better to me to have that. This is why Maria went drinking the night after Manolo died, while in canon that would technically be their wedding night (lol). Just so you know.


	4. Brief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're all praying for him."

"Joaquin!"

Both whirled and spoke in unison. They rushed to his sides. Joaquin was smiling, but his eye was still closed, and his breathing was very labored.

"Joaquin, why are you awake?" Maria chided gently, feeling his forehead. He was still burning up.

"Amor, you should be resting." Manolo added, sitting in the chair Maria had occupied moments before. Joaquin turned to try and look at him, but winced.

"Singvogel, you're here t-too? I only h-heard Maria..."

"I only just got here, Joaquin. I came as soon as I could."

Joaquin simply hummed in response. Maria gestured to the bowl by Manolo's side. The man caught on immediately, and re-dampened the cloth. When he placed the cloth across Joaquin's forehead though, the wounded man struggled.

"No--n-no, don't do that--" he tried to shove Manolo away. Only then did they notice he was shivering.

"Querida, are you cold?" Manolo asked. Joaquin nodded.

"T-too cold. C-can't sleep. W-wish I could sleep. So tired..."

Maria and Manolo exchanged worried looks. She stood up.

"I'll get the doctor."

Joaquin protested again.

"N-no! Maria d-don't leave, please don't leave me..."

“Joaquin, I won’t be gone a minute, I promise.” She patted his shoulder gently. He mumbled more protestations but he settled down. Maria left the room, closing the door behind her. For a moment she wondered where the doctor was. Then she heard the voices downstairs. Well, she heard her father's voice (all this time and the man still hadn't left yet? Ugh). The closer she came to the stairs, the more she could distinguish.

"...weak. He needs to rest."

"Yes," that was her father, "I understand that! But we also need to find out who did this to him and if they pose a threat to the town!"

"General, please, he's already in poor condition, and forgive my blunt words, but I highly doubt making him relive a traumatic experience in such a dire state would do anything but exacerbate it!” Dr. Chavez snapped. The General scoffed, and Maria could tell he was about to say something really stupid if she didn’t intervene.

“Doctor,” She interrupted quickly, coming halfway down the stairs. Both men turned to look at her, and she almost regretted her decision. If she told them that Joaquin was awake, General Posada would be adamant about interrogating the poor man. Better think of something else. “...Can you please take another look at Joaquin’s hand? I think it bled through the bandages.”

There was a pause, then the Doctor turned to General Posada.

“If you’ll please excuse me. I have a _patient_ to attend to.” He said coldly, brushing by Maria’s father as he went upstairs. As he passed Maria on the steps, she whispered quickly to him.

“He’s awake, Manolo will tell you.”

The doctor gave a semblance of a nod, but didn’t pause in his ascent. That done, Maria turned to her father, pouring as much daughterly affection as she could into her voice.

“Papa, what are you still doing here? You should go home, and get some rest.”

The General immediately sighed, relaxing slightly under her gaze. “I know, mi’ja. But look at what they’ve done to him. To our hero. For all we know he’s led them here and they’ll be attacking any moment. It’s imperative we find out more!”

“Joaquin is delirious, Papa, he was barely coherent.” Maria said. Well, for what it was worth, she did have some information. “But...from what I could decipher he said that they were bandits, north of here. From what I heard from Anselmo, Plata was dehydrated when she came in, so it’s safe to assume she was riding for at least a day straight.”

She almost told her father about the medals Joaquin spoke of. But she still wasn’t sure if what Joaquin had told her had been a product of delirium and nothing more. Doubt gripped her heart. She almost told her father.

“That’s all I know.”

The General smiled gratefully at her.

“Gracias, Maria. That will help us.”

She nodded and turned to go back upstairs, but General Posada stopped her.

“Querida…” He said slowly, and there was a rare level of kindness in his voice that made Maria turn back.

“We’re all praying for him.” He finished. She only nodded thankfully in response, smile weak.

When she returned to Joaquin's room, Dr. Chavez and Manolo were speaking quietly. Manolo had his guitar across his lap, but he wasn't playing. Joaquin seemed to be asleep again; he was covered up to his shoulders in a blanket now.

"No, no, it's fine, Doctor. You've already done so much for him. I can't thank you enough." Manolo was saying.

"I'm just doing my job." Dr. Chavez smiled appreciatively. "And like I said, if anything changes, please do fetch me. I'll be back in a little while."

He turned on his heel and left the room with a nod to Maria.

"Is everything alright?" Maria asked as she sat down. Well, as alright as it could be.

"Sí. Dr. Chavez gave him more medicine to help with the pain and bring down the fever. He's..." Manolo's voice immediately faded. "Maria," it picked up again, albeit waveringly, "He's so weak. I--I touched his chest, I don't know why, I just--I just wanted to feel his heart. His heartbeat...I'm scared." Fresh tears were welling in his eyes.

Maria nodded understandingly. She reached out for Joaquin's hand, but realized it was his right one. Thinking better of it, she settled for his forearm instead.

"I am too."

Suddenly chills ran up and down her spine. She started to shake. Possibilities and scenarios darted through her mind, one by one, like the floodgates to the most frantic part of her mind had finally broke when she admitted her fear.

"What if one of us had been there?" She blurted. Manolo looked up, startled.

"What?"

"What if one of us had gone with him? We might have been able to fight off whatever he went up against. Joaquin wouldn't have to be on his _deathbed_ if one of us--"

"No. Stop." Manolo interrupted her descent into hysteria. "It's not our fault this happened and the last thing we need to do is blame ourselves for it."

"But--"

"Yes Maria. One of us could have gone with him. And he could have come back, still on his deathbed, this time with a fucking _corpse_ in tow." Manolo hissed, more out of desperation than anything else because he was being plagued by the same 'what ifs', and those thoughts never led him down a good path. "We have no idea exactly what he went up against, there's no way of knowing if us by his side would have been a help or a hindrance. What's happened has happened. All we can do is cope."

As if to change the subject or, more fittingly, end it, Manolo started playing his guitar; a quiet, tentative melody he made up as he went. Maria sighed, sitting back in her chair. She watched the slight rise and fall of Joaquin's chest like a hawk. After a while she noticed Manolo was playing in time with it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this one's really short, sorry about this. But the next one will be longer, I promise!


	5. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does a hurricane protect others from itself?

“Maria. _Maria!_ ”

Maria launched to her feet, already in a fighting stance despite the fact that her vision was still bleary and she had already recognized the voice as Manolo’s. She relaxed and rubbed her eyes as Manolo let out a weak chuckle. He was standing a little ways back, obviously keeping out of the way of her abrupt movements.

“Sorry, I must have dozed off,” She yawned. Manolo nodded.

“Yeah, I did too. It’s only dawn now.”

Maria turned towards the window. True to form, the sun was just beginning to peek out over the rooftops of San Ángel. It had been a foggy night, and the streets were still hazy in the early dawn. She made to move towards the window, but something tugged at her feet. A look down confirmed that a blanket (presumably dropped to the floor when she jumped up) was holding her back. She picked it up thoughtfully.

"One of the nurses or Dr. Chavez must have come in," she said to herself as she folded the blanket and placed it on the chair. That done, she finally turned her attention to the man on the bed, and it felt like all the energy was sapped out of her body. Joaquin looked no better than he had earlier. She couldn't even discern any breathing and for a short moment she panicked, because if he wasn't breathing that meant--

"He's still fighting," Manolo murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. Still, Maria waited until she could make out the rise and fall of Joaquin's chest before she spoke.

"The children will be awake soon." She said.

"What are we going to tell them?" Manolo asked, breath warm on her neck.

"I...I'm not sure yet. But we should go home. As much as I want to stay, there's not much we can do without being in the way." She ran her hands up and down his arms. His grip on her waist tightened a fraction.

"Maria...I think I might stay here anyway, for a little bit. Just to keep him company." He said quietly. "Especially if he wakes up still delirious."

"I would prefer that, actually." Dr. Chavez said quietly, making the couple jump. Seven years, and Maria would never be able to get used to the doctor's ability to appear completely unheard. “Manolo is right. A familiar face will help keep him calm.”

Manolo nodded in acknowledgement.

“For the time being,” the doctor added, “My wife insisted on rising with me and making breakfast for you, if you’d like to join us.”

Maria smiled but shook her head, pulling out of Manolo’s arms. She held on to his hand, though. “Gracias, Doctor, for the offer. But my children will be awake soon, and I need to take care of them.”

“Of course, of course.” The Doctor nodded.

“I will join you, if you don’t mind.” Manolo said quietly, to the doctor’s reassurance that no, they didn’t mind at all. Maria squeezed Manolo’s hand before letting go.

“I’ll be back later.” She promised. Manolo only nodded, already focused on a quiet discussion with Dr. Chavez, who was checking up on Joaquin’s wounds.

The house was quiet, save for someone--Señora Chavez, presumably--bustling about in the kitchen. Everyone had left during the night, which was probably for the best. It wasn’t as if the Chavez household was a saloon. Silently Maria left the home.

Maria wasn’t sure if the whole town was on edge, or just herself. She barely saw anyone as she walked briskly back to her home, but constantly she felt eyes on her back, following her. She wasn’t scared, but she did have to forcibly keep her pace from speeding up.

_Why am I afraid in my own town?_

The thought struck her and she paused mid step, just around the corner from the Casa del Sanchez. There was no danger here. Hell, the biggest problem that could happen at this very moment was someone would come up to her and question her about Joaquin. She turned slowly in a circle, surveying her surroundings. The street she was on was totally empty, with not a soul in sight. So why did she feel as if someone was watching her, following her, creeping up on her? Her heartbeat was quickening. She had never felt so unsafe in San Ángel before.

_Something is coming._

She shifted into a fighting stance, eyes darting from spot to spot, bracing for an attack from any direction. She kept her ears perked for any sound and then--

Something grabbed her skirt.

She whirled with a kick and a small scream, only to hit empty air.

“Bleh.”

Looking down, she practically melted with relief. Chuy was snuffling at her feet, looking up at her questioningly. She sank to her knees to scratch the pig behind the ears.

“Ay, Chuy. Don’t do that!” She scolded gently, before hugging him close. “I’m far too stressed for any surprises, cerdo.”

The old pig oinked in response. Maria stood up, hands on her hips.

“Now how did you get out, hm? Did Manolo forget to shut the gate behind him?” She said, walking around the corner, Chuy following obediently. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Indeed, in his hurry, Manolo _had_ forgotten to close the gate. Maria closed it behind her once Chuy passed through. The home was quiet and still, which was to be expected, and Maria did her best to keep quiet as she entered the house. Upon entering the sitting room, she found Sister Ana, sunken into the large armchair Joaquin usually occupied, snoring softly. There was something comical about the small nun in the oversized (gaudy, Maria would always maintain, but Joaquin insisted on keeping it) piece of furniture. In her lap was little Valentina, still fast asleep and clinging to the nun’s habit. She must have had a serious nightmare: often if the 5-year-old had a bad dream she would simply climb into bed with Luciana, climbing in with her parents only if the dream was particularly nasty.

Maria left the two sleeping and went upstairs to check on Teodoro and Luciana. The floor of Teo’s room was littered with far more books than was usually allowed (Manolo probably had to barter with the boy to keep him from asking too many questions), but Maria counted herself lucky that Teo was at least _in_ his bed, even if his face was covered by an open book. She thought about picking up the book, but maybe waking up to a book with drool on it would teach him a lesson. God knows how many sleepless nights and soggy pages it took before she realized that sometimes it was better to get a good night’s sleep.

The girls’ room was much neater. Well, Valentina’s toy sword was on the floor and her sheets were incredibly rumpled, which supported the nightmare theory, but other than that the room was practically spotless. Luciana was (as per usual) curled into a tight ball with all the sheets wrapped around her, in the far bed by the window.

Assured that the children were safe and well, Maria tiptoed back downstairs and past the sleeping nun and child into the kitchen. Time to make breakfast. Time to think about what to say. She ran through scenarios as she started up the oven and gathered ingredients from the pantry.

_Hey kids! Vater is dying and you’ll get nightmares if we go and visit. Sorry!_

Please. Let’s take this seriously.

_It was nothing. Abuelo just wanted to see me._

Possible, but the kids had seen how agitated Anselmo was, and why would Anselmo be upset if nothing was wrong? Not to mention she and Manolo would undoubtedly work out a system to take turns visiting Joaquin, and she would have to come up with an explanation as to where Mama and Papa were going. But she couldn’t just tell them how critical the whole situation was. They would go into a panic. Maybe a half-lie would work. At least Valentina and Luciana would be convinced. Teodoro, on the other hand, might be too intuitive; she could remember far too well one of their first exchanges in the orphanage, when he was shy and reclusive and a little more prone to saying whatever came into his head.

_“You don’t hate your Papa.”_

_Maria sits down, hard. She just had an argument with her father, almost in front of the whole class, just before lunch. Fire still boils in her blood but she had regained her cool to finish up. The little blonde is staring at her curiously now._

_“No, no. Of course not,” She sighs finally, looking away. “He’s a stubborn mule of a man, but he is my father.”_

_“You don’t hate him like you hate your Mama.” Not a question. A statement. Of fact._

_Every inch of fire in her veins turns to ice. Her eyes widen. Teodoro panics at her reaction._

_“L-lo siento!” He cries, slamming his book shut and rushing to his feet. “Lo siento!” He runs out of the room, leaving Maria frozen to the spot._

To this day Maria wasn't sure how Teo saw that. But it still stood that the boy had a gift for reading people's true emotions, and he would be able to see through at least Manolo--terrible liar that he was--he already had, given the amount of books her husband had to bribe him with to quell his curiosity. It probably didn't do much good either. She only hoped her son would have the consideration to not frighten his sisters with the truth.

After a while breakfast was almost ready, and after setting the table and setting out a pitcher of juice she knelt down to Chuy.

"You get the ones upstairs, I'll get the ones downstairs?" She asked.

"Bleh." Chuy answered. She chuckled as the pig turned and headed for the staircase. Quietly, she poked her head into the sitting room. To her surprise, Valentina was wide awake, although Sister Ana was still asleep. The little girl was leaning as far away from the nun she possibly could, and she was staring at her mother with wide, terrified eyes.

“My hair is stuck in her necklace.” She whispered. Maria held back a laugh when she saw that--indeed--a part of Valentina’s hair had become tangled with the nun’s rosary beads.

“Don’t worry,” Maria said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m coming to rescue you.”

In comical exaggeration she tiptoed over to the chair and knelt down in front of Valentina. Examining the tangle, she looked down at her daughter.

"This looks pretty nasty, Tina. We might have to just cut it." She whispered. Valentina's eyes bulged.

"No! No no no no no!" She whisper-yelled. Maria snickered quietly.

"Relax, querida. I can get you out of this easily. I'm just teasing."

"Mama, don't scare me like that!" The 5-year-old scolded. Maria raised her hands.

"Lo siento, lo siento. I won't do it again, I promise."

Valentina harrumphed so seriously Maria had to hold back another laugh. She leaned in, and set about disentangling Valentina's red hair from the rosary beads without waking up Sister Ana. Her hair was the exact same shade as Joaquin's. For a moment Maria's heart panged, and all she could think of was her fingers buried in hair stiff with blood. She shook her head. _Focus_.

“Why aren’t you in your bed, querida? Did you have a nightmare?” She asked.

“Mhhm.” Valentina almost nodded, but stopped herself. She winced as Maria pulled on a strand of her hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Valentina thought for a moment, face drawn. “No.”

“Okay. Well, the good thing about nightmares is that they’re not real,” Maria told her as she got the last of Valentina’s hair untangled. She stood, gently lifting the little girl onto her hip. “And they can’t hurt us.”

Valentina hugged her mother for a moment, sighing. Maria hugged her back before setting her on the bottom step of the staircase.

"Go get washed and dressed for breakfast, okay? Luciana can help you if you have trouble." She told her. Valentina pulled at a strand of her red hair.

"Where's Papa?" She asked. Right. Maria knew that question was coming.

"He's not home right now, but he'll be back later today."

"Why is he not home?" The girl pressed.

"I'll tell all three of you after breakfast, alright?" Maria deflected. Valentina nodded and headed up the stairs. She paused midway and looked back down at her mother.

"Mama, you _do_ know how to use a sword right?" She asked. Maria looked back up at her curiously. This must have something to do with Valentina's nightmare.

"Of course I do," she smiled confidently, placing her hands on her hips, "They may say Vater is the best swordsman around, but they're only half-right."

"Half-right?"

"I'm the best around, but I'm a swords _woman_. So by all means, Vater is the best swords _man_ around." She said. Valentina giggled, but it didn't last long. She turned and headed the rest of the way up the stairs. Maria could barely hear it, but she could have sworn the 5-year-old whispered "Good" to herself. Maria sighed, hoping that Tina didn't dwell on her nightmare too much. She turned and went back to the sitting room where Sister Ana was still sleeping.

"Sister Ana." Maria shook the nun's shoulder gently. Sister Ana blinked awake at a snail’s pace.

"I--oh--goodness me." The old woman murmured, sitting up as she shook the sleep from her shoulders.

"Buenos días, Sister." Maria smiled. Sister Ana was still a little groggy.

"Maria, what are you doing at the orphanage so--oh my," She recognized her surroundings, then looked at Maria worriedly, “You must be wondering why I’m here--I can explain--”

“It’s alright, Sister Ana,” Maria reassured her, “Manolo told me that you were watching the children. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“Oh it was the least I could do under the circumstances.” The nun dismissed, rising to her feet.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay and eat breakfast with me and the children.” Maria offered. “It’s the least _I_ could do.”

The nun shook her head no.

“Oh, I’m afraid I couldn’t, my dear. My sisters at the church will be wondering where I am. I didn’t tell them where I was going last night.”

“Oh, alright. Ah, Sister,” Maria called as the nun turned to leave, “I don’t think Manolo will be coming to the orphanage today. He’s staying by Dr. Chavez’s to help take care of Joaquin.”

Sister Ana looked at her, eyes filled with worry and sympathy.

“I understand. How is Joaquin doing?” She asked tentatively. Maria sighed, trying not to let her shoulders sag.  Everytime she even thought about her soldier across town, she felt drained. She just couldn’t lose him. She looked down.

“It’s…” She said slowly. “It’s a fight. A hard fight but...he’s fighting. Right now we can only hope.”

A hand on her shoulder lifted her gaze.

“He is in all of our prayers, Maria.” Sister Ana said. There was as much reassurance as there could possibly be in the nun’s voice, but Maria could tell that she was just as scared as everyone else.

“Gracias, Sister. For everything.”

“If you need someone to watch the children again, don’t hesitate to send for me.” Sister Ana told her as Maria walked her to the door.

“Thank you very much, I’ll keep it mind.” Maria nodded.

As the nun headed off down the path to the gate, Maria heard the thumping of feet. She turned and jumped. Luciana was right in front of her already; it had been Teodoro thumping down the stairs.

Luciana signed. ‘Sorry.’

“It’s alright, querida.” Maria shut the door behind her. “Buenos días.”

“Buenos días.” Teodoro greeted as he hopped off the last step. He still had mirrored red marks on his face from the book he had been sleeping under.

“Buenos días, rosy red-cheeks.” Maria returned, teasing. Teo gasped and rubbed at his cheeks, and groaned.

“Not agaaaaain!”

“How many times have I warned you niño?” Maria herded them towards the dining room, voice light. "Reading at night just makes more trouble for yourself."

"But I can't just stop," He whined. "I have to find out what happened next!"

"He was going to bring a book down with him, Mama!" Valentina called as she flashed down the stairs. Her hair was now drawn back into a ponytail reminiscent of how Maria used to wear hers when she was younger. "I told him you would yell at him if he did."

Maria chuckled. "I wouldn't have yelled at him, but I probably would have taken it away. It's breakfast time, Toro, not reading time."

The boy grumbled something about “Toro” not being his name as he climbed into his seat at the table, but Maria payed it no mind. She vanished into the kitchen for a moment and reappeared with a large plate.

“Gorditas de huevos! Eat up kids!” She served each of them before serving and sitting down herself. Luciana raised her hand hurriedly to get her mother’s attention.

“Sí, Luciana?”

The little girl pointed to the chair Manolo usually sat in at the opposite end of the table from Maria, and tilted her head in question.

“Mama said she’ll tell us after breakfast, Lucie.” Valentina piped up. She grinned. "I bet it's a surprise!"

Maria grimaced as she sipped her juice. It was a surprise, but it definitely wasn't that sort of surprise. This was going to be hard. Now more than ever she felt the absence, emphasized by Manolo's empty seat and the empty seat next to Teodoro, where Joaquin usually sat. It had been empty for a month and a half, but this time was different. There was a chance that seat would never be filled again.

"Mama, if de joof fower?” Teo asked around a mouthful of food. It took Maria a moment to decipher what he was saying.

“Teodoro, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Maria reminded him. “And no, the juice isn’t sour.”

“Oh. You were making a face.” He said after he swallowed.

“I was just thinking.” Maria said dismissively. After that, she feared the conversation would dissolve into awkward silence, but Valentina began asking Teodoro if he had any dreams last night, and the children began conversing across the table. Occasionally they would rope in Luciana, interpreting her sign language as best they could, with some help from Maria. Maria had picked it up the fastest after Luciana when the little girl started learning. Well, no. Third-fastest. Joaquin had the strongest handle on sign language after Luciana. Joaquin had always been the best with languages.

Again, Maria felt her strength drain briefly. Why did everything have to remind her of him?

When breakfast was finished, everyone gathered their dishes and went into the kitchen. There, Valentina, little leader that she was, took command. Maria was automatically relegated to placing the dishes away once they were clean, due to being the tallest (at least to the children, Maria sighed internally). The children rock-paper-scissored for who would wash, who would dry, and who would get to sit out. On this day, Luciana won, and quietly sat at the small kitchen table braiding her hair while Teodoro washed the dishes and Valentina dried them, and Maria put them all away. Maria hummed the tune that Manolo played the night before, and it wasn’t long until the children were humming along too. If Manolo were there, Maria knew he’d be coming up with words, right on the spot. She hoped he’d be home soon.

Valentina cheered as Maria put the last cup away.

“Yes! Now we can go play--”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Maria stopped the five-year-old before she could run to the backyard. “There’s something I need to tell you, all three of you.”

She beckoned the children forward, waiting until they were standing around her before kneeling down to be eye-level with them. Valentina was still as excited as ever.

“Oh, are you going to tell us the surprise now?” She asked, bouncing a little. Maria sighed, looking for the right words.

“No, this isn’t--this isn’t a surprise, Valentina. Not...not in the way you’re thinking,” She said finally. Steeling herself, she continued.

“You know how Vater is...is the hero of San Ángel?”

"Yeah! With you and Papa!" Valentina cried. Teo and Luciana nodded with her.

"Yeah," The boy agreed, grinning, "Everyone knows about how you and Papa and Vater stopped the Bandit King Chakal and saved the town."

" _And_ Vater goes off saving other people from bandits _all_ the _time_." Valentina picked up, a slight whine in her tone as she lolled her head exasperatedly. Maria would have laughed if she wasn't so nervous about what she was going to say next.

"Yes, well, I hope you realize just how important Vater's job is. And...and how very dangerous it is."

Teodoro immediately caught on, grin fading. She could read his features plainly. _Uh oh. Mama's about to tell us something bad._

“You see, bandits aren’t good people--that’s why they’re called bandits,” She didn’t know why she was telling them what they already knew, but she couldn’t seem to find any other way to put it into words without letting her fear bleed through, “They’ll do anything they can to get what they want, and they don’t care who gets hurt in the process. They have no honor, and they have no respect, and they’ll never ever fight fair. And…” the words caught in her throat, but she forced them out, “sometimes, they win. Sometimes the heroes lose. Sometimes even heroes have their bad days.”

None of the children were looking at her with anything but apprehension now. Maria couldn’t let them know how bad it really was. She couldn’t scare them like that. She took a deep breath, before speaking.

“...Vater is home.” She said firmly. “But he is very, very hurt, and he is very, very sick.”

Maria didn’t miss Luciana’s small whimper, or Valentina’s little gasp, or the way Teodoro started to tremble. She pulled them closer.

“Is he going to die?” Valentina sniffed. Maria opened her mouth and almost said the truth, but maybe, maybe if she said otherwise, if she was confident enough for the children, she could be confident enough for herself.

“No,” She shook her head, and she hoped there was strength and confidence in the smile she gave them, “No, Vater is _not_ going to die. It takes a lot more to bring down a Mondragon, believe you me. It’s just going to be while before Vater is strong enough to do the things he used to do. For now, he is staying with Dr. Chavez to recover.”

Reassured, all three relaxed slightly.

“Can we visit?” Teodoro asked.

“No,” Maria said again. “Me and Papa will be taking turns helping Dr. Chavez, but Vater is a little too sick to see you guys just yet. Maybe in a week or two, when he's stronger.”

An idea occurred to her. She took the hands of Luciana and Teodoro, looking between the three of them.

“Hey, we can’t visit him, but, maybe we can make things for him. Little get well presents. How does that sound?”

Immediately Valentina started bouncing again. All three were smiling now, completely caught up by the idea.

"That's great! Oh, I can give him my sword! He'll need it!" The youngest cried, racing off to her room. Teodoro chased after her.

"What would he need your sword for?" He called as he ran. The rest of their conversation was drowned out by the distance and the pounding of feet. Maria looked at Luciana, who had stayed behind.

"Do you want to--"

The 7-year-old practically tackled her with a tight hug. Maria reciprocated it, rubbing the girl's back comfortingly.

"It'll all be okay, Lucie." She said. Luciana pulled away and pointed at Maria, then signed "Okay" and a question mark. While Luciana had been picking up vocabulary quite easily, full-formed questions like this were a little harder for her to remember.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’ll be alright.” Maria smiled. Luciana nodded, reassured, then she too ran off upstairs to help her siblings. Maria watched her go, sitting back on her heels only when the girl was out of sight. Chuy snuffled under her palm, demanding to be pet. Maria complied quietly.

When she was younger, she never had to hide her fear or her anger. And if she did have to, she didn't because damn anyone who would try to make her hide how she felt. But now, now she had to be the hero, the rock that didn't crack. She had to shelter the kids, keep them safe but she had always been a storm of emotions. How does a hurricane protect others from itself? By no means was she upset by the concept and never for a second would she ever put herself before the children like that and she would _never_ admit it out loud, but it was draining. It took a strength she'd never had to have before.

She wondered if this is what it was like for Joaquin, being the hero of the day every day. Always maintaining a brave face for others; sure it helped, but sometimes it could be damaging. Because eventually, when you _had_ the opportunity to express, you would still hide. You wanted to prevent _everyone_ from worrying about you, but in the end that would just make them worry more. In fact, it was one of the worst things Joaquin used to do; Manolo too, but Joaquin especially. It almost caused a catastrophe when he found out about his Spirit eye. He was all bravado, boasting about how he helped save the living _and_ the dead. The circles under his eyes became darker but still he insisted everything was fine. Only when the sleep-deprived man nearly got himself killed did Maria and Manolo successfully convince the idiot to wear the eye-patch. Helping lost souls was all well and good, but being swarmed by _other_ creatures, monsters that no one could help him fight? That wasn’t worth it, especially when the spirits of the dead could be just as harmful.

She remembered how Joaquin’s left eye, his Spirit eye, had been bandaged. Was it irreparably damaged now? What would happen to his vision?

“Bleh.” She looked down, to see Chuy pulling at her skirt gently. She jolted back to reality.

“You’re right Chuy,” She said, standing. Maybe doing everyday tasks would keep her head clear. “I need to get washed up too. Can’t go around wearing the same things I wore yesterday. And my hair could probably do with a good brushing too."

By the time she was done, the children were waiting outside her door with the suggestion of going out to the meadow by the large tree just outside of town. They wanted to pick flowers for Joaquin, and Maria was more than happy to oblige. This was where they spent most of the morning. Every now and then while the children ran, Maria would glance back at the town. They had long since missed the opportunity to watch the sun light up the town like a cluster of stars, but something kept drawing Maria’s gaze. She’d always find the bull ring first, edges stretching out, a bull rearing its horns to the sky. Then her gaze would move to the church. The column that had collapsed in the Battle of San Ángel had long since been repaired, and the contrast of its novelty shone starkly against the rest of the old building. In a blink she could see her and Manolo on the rooftop, laughing as they quite literally danced with death. Then Maria would vainly try to make out the Doctor’s house, but it was hidden by the other buildings of the town. Everytime she stared at where it would be if she could see it, Chuy would run back to her from wherever he was, and nudge her. Then she would be pulled in with the children again, commenting on flowers and helping judge which were the best ones to gather. There was a small debate as to whether or not Vater’s favorite color was blue or gold, which Maria had to settle (it had always been gold, much to Luciana’s chagrin and Teodoro’s triumph). Valentina kept gathering rocks from the edge of the lake, touting their smooth surfaces as something Vater would think was cool.

“Look!” She cried, holding up a piece of what appeared to be granite. “This one sparkles in the sun, just like gold! Vater will love it!”

“I’m sure he will, Tina.” Maria chuckled.

It was past noon when she finally managed to herd the children home. As soon as Valentina stepped across the threshold she was dragging Teodoro and Luciana with her down the hall and off to where Maria and Manolo’s joint studio was.

“Come on, guys! These rocks are plain and we can paint them!”

Teodoro looked over his shoulder.

“It’s alright if we do that, right Mama?” He asked, holding his sisters back a little. Maria nodded.

“Sure, as long as you don’t make a mess.”

“And remember,” Maria called as they ran off, “Keep my paints away from Papa’s side of the room!”

She stretched her arms above her head, and sighed. She headed to the kitchen to start preparing lunch when she heard the door open and shut behind her.

“Hola.” His voice was very quiet.

“Manolo!” She turned on her heel and jumped into his arms without a second thought. She didn’t complain when he hugged her just a little too tightly. It was a few moments before Manolo set her down.

"Where are the children? At the orphanage?" He asked.

"They're in our studio making get-well presents for Joaquin. It's Saturday, Manolo."

He jolted as if electrocuted, smacking his forehead.

“Shit, the orphanage! The guitar lessons--”

“No, no,” She reassured him, “Manolo, it’s okay. I told Sister Ana you wouldn’t be coming. They understand.”

“I was supposed to start teaching them a new song today.” He sounded lost.

“You can start the new song next Saturday.” She took his hands and tugged him into the sitting room and towards a chair, trying not to notice how heavy his steps were. He looked pale and haggard, several strands of hair loose from his ponytail and half-lidded eyes that were very unfocused.

“Sit down, amor, you look exhausted.”

Manolo obeyed, falling into the chair like a ragdoll. Maria twisted her fingers nervously, not wanting to know and wanting to know so badly. She knelt down next to the chair to look up at him.

“...He’s not doing well, is he?” She asked finally. Manolo shook his head weakly.

“No,” He said, “No he’s not.”

“Tell me.”

He took a shuddering breath before continuing. His eyes remained unfocused.

“A little while after breakfast Dr. Chavez redressed some of his injuries...I had to leave the room for that. I didn’t realize they were so...awful…”

Maria didn’t say anything, but she noticed him blanch at the memory. She only waited for him to pick up again.

“He woke up a couple of times, but he was never lucid. The second time he didn’t even recognize me,” Manolo swallowed thickly, “He thought I was a bandit, that we had taken him hostage. He tried to attack me--we almost had to knock him out just to subdue him, _Christ_ …”

Maria waited again. Manolo was starting to shake.

“He ended up ripping the sutures in his hand. I had to leave the room again. Then…” another deep breath, “right before I left his...his heart stopped.”

Maria shot to her feet, pulling away in horror as everything started to crash and burn.

“ _What_? _No_ \--”

Manolo pulled her forward and into his lap, holding her close.

“No, no it’s okay.” He murmured, although his voice was wavering. “The doctor used that resuscitation technique you taught him. Lo trajimos de vuelta. It’s okay.”

It was still too much. Maria buried her face into his neck as she started crying again. She had thought the moment when the bell tipped over seven years ago, when she thought she lost Manolo a second time but still waited with baited breath, was the most scared she had ever been in her life. But the agonizing torture of Joaquin’s life literally being dangled in front of her eyes, with nothing she could do to help, this was far worse.

“Esta vivo, esta vivo…” Manolo kept chanting, rubbing her back gently. Maria repeated it in her head, trying to calm herself down. She pulled away to wipe away her tears.

“He’s not gone yet.”

She whacked his chest when he said that, anger mixing with the fear and pain in her chest.

“Don’t say that, Manolo Sanchez! Don’t you dare say that like he _will_ be. He _won’t_.” She snapped, voice cracking. Manolo looked away, contrite.

“Lo siento, Maria…”

“He can’t die, Manolo.” She came forward again, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I can’t lose him. I just _can’t_.”

“Neither can I,” Manolo whispered. Maria could feel his tears on her shoulder. “Neither can I.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter I've written so far -__-"  
> Don't worry, things will pick up soon :)


	6. The Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks.

Three weeks.

On Sunday Joaquin started coughing severely, likely caused by a mixture of smoke inhalation and whatever illness he had already contracted. There wasn't much Dr. Chavez could do to treat it besides making sure Joaquin stayed hydrated and soothing his throat with honey and milk alongside the medicine he was taking. At church an extra prayer was spoken for Joaquin's recovery. General Posada began fortifying the town, and suddenly it was rare to see any one of his men sitting idle.

The day after Maria and Manolo set up a system for visiting Joaquin. Maria would go during the early morning and late night, around her classes at the orphanage, while Manolo would go during the afternoon, around his guitar lessons. Whenever the children asked, both would quietly reply with, "Vater is recovering.” Every time they went they would bring a few of the children’s gifts with them, and slowly those presents and the presents from other townspeople began to pile up. Joaquin was never awake or aware enough to notice, but he was never sleeping either. His coughing kept him from resting for very long, which only weakened him further.

Two days later his heart stopped again. Maria was the only one there at the time, and it was a good minute before Joaquin was breathing again. She didn't stop crying for half an hour, and she didn't stop shaking for two. She didn’t sleep at all.

The following Sunday at church another prayer was spoken.

Several times Joaquin would wake up screaming and fighting. These times were horrifying because they were the only windows Maria and Manolo had into the tortures Joaquin had endured. One week later and they knew that he had been whipped, that he had been dragged by his throat across the ground, that the blow that had nearly severed his hand was supposed to sever it _completely_ , that his broken leg (and ribs, they had also learned) were caused by a horse, that he had been thrown into a fire and that _that_ was how he got away, climbing out when no one was looking. It was difficult to calm him down; oft times he ripped open his own stitches, which was no help at all. At one point Maria got too close and Joaquin broke her nose. One time Manolo made the same mistake and got a black eye. One night Joaquin started strangling himself in his sleep and worsened the bruises around his throat.

He never mentioned the medals he had told Maria of the night he returned, which led her to believe it had been a delusion and nothing more. But one terrifying night after his heart had stopped _again_ , Joaquin rocketed up from the bed as he came to, screaming Xibalba’s name at the top of his lungs. He immediately passed out afterwards, but even the doctor was on edge for a while after that. Maria and Manolo almost expected the bitter god to appear (a part of them hoped he would, because maybe he would help them; Joaquin had been his champion after all). Xibalba never did.

Maria started having her own nightmares, and so did Manolo, judging by the way he would withdraw from her in the middle of the night. He would always be back in her arms by morning, but she saw the dark circles under his eyes. She doubted these new dreams were mingling well with the ones he usually had. Sometimes she would wake up, sweating and shivering and heart pounding and he would still be there, as awake as she was. There were no words spoken when this happened, only shifting closer together and quietly hoping to sleep without dreams.

Maria started bringing books to read aloud. Joaquin always seemed to rest easier whenever she was reading, or whenever Manolo was singing. This didn’t come as too much of a surprise. Maria would always read from his favorite books; Manolo would always play his favorite songs.

After two and a half weeks, while Joaquin was no longer on the brink of death, he was no where near recovery. But General Posada had had enough. The town had been gearing up for an attack for half a month now, but no attack was to be had. The General was desperate for any information, short of sending the few soldiers San Ángel had out to investigate. He couldn’t risk losing them (incompetent as they were), so he settled for trying to interrogate Joaquin. Dr. Chavez protested to no avail, and Maria arrived on that particular day to find Manolo and her father in a screaming match right in front of the bedridden man.

"You would do well to remember your place, _boy_ ," General Posada spat as she walked in, pointing wildly at Manolo, who stood between him and Joaquin, "Do not believe that because you have married my daughter you have any authority over me!"

"Never in a second would I believe that, sir," Manolo contended, voice rising in volume as he spoke, "but Joaquin Mondragon is my best friend. He is like a brother to me and I'll be damned to hell before I let anyone make his heart stop a _fourth_ time!"

"You think I do not care for him too?! This man has been like a son to me, but in this case I have to make the difficult decision! The fate of the town is more important!" The General shrieked. Maybe some part of Manolo acknowledged that truth, but he certainly didn't acknowledge it out loud.

"If no one has come to attack us after two weeks then who's to say there'll be any attack at all? Just leave him be!"

Before it could get any worse, Maria stepped in, glare angry as fire and voice cold as ice.

" _Leave_."

Both men turned to face her, surprised by the power in her voice. The General responded first.

"Maria, this is of the utmost--"

" _Both of you. Leave_."

"Wait, me too?" Manolo asked. He immediately looked away when she fixed that burning gaze on him. Yes. Him too.

"If you must fight," she gritted, "then have the decency to do it outside, not in front of the man who needs to rest as much as possible."

Her father opened his mouth to protest, but Maria cut him off viciously.

"If you had had the _decency_ to talk _civilly_ , then maybe I would have been able to tell you that Joaquin managed to wake up and be a little more lucid than he has been last night. Maybe I would have been able to tell you how he spoke of the bandit camp, how he had been watching it for two weeks, how only small groups of four or five men would leave at a time and how the camp _appeared_ to be _permanent_. If we were to expect any attack it would be from a small group of men that we could easily handle. Now that you know all of this, _are we done here?_ ”

General Posada narrowed his eyes at her, and she knew she wouldn’t hear the end of this for not treating him with enough respect, but for now he simply huffed and exited the room. Manolo followed several paces behind, steps slower and more unsure.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” He murmured as he passed her. She touched his arm lightly in reassurance. She wasn’t angry at him, not truly, although screaming loud enough to bring the house down was nowhere near intelligent. Manolo wisely shut the door behind him. Maria sighed and shook her head, approaching Joaquin. He still hadn’t managed to beat his fever, and coughs still rattled his lungs. He glistened with sweat, and right now it seemed the fighting _had_ woken him up. Although his eye was still closed, he was beginning to toss and turn, moaning for help.

“Sh, sh,” Maria hushed as she sat down in the chair next to the bed, all anger replaced with gentle reassurance. “Sé calmado. Nada está mal.”

While it was true that the night before Joaquin had awoken more clear-headed than ever (which still wasn’t saying much, sadly), the night after that he seemed to fall into a deep sleep. Two days of absolute stillness passed--sending Manolo into a terrible paranoia, constantly checking Joaquin for a pulse. Maria was not nearly as shaken, but the last time Manolo had seen anyone this unresponsive was seven years ago; she understood where the panic was coming from. Dr. Chavez suggested the possibility that Joaquin had fallen into a coma, simply due to the strain on his body. A third day passed and the suggestion became a concrete diagnosis: Joaquin wasn’t responding much to anything, but he was still very much alive. A light coma, the doctor explained, the body shutting down in order to fight everything off. Hopefully it wouldn’t last long. Hopefully.

“At least we know he’s resting peacefully now,” Maria had tried for optimism. Manolo had only stared at her dully from across the bed, hand resolutely wrapped around Joaquin’s wrist.

“At least my father will leave him alone now.”

That had gotten a ghost of a smile.

Maria would count all these times as some of the worst in her life. The fear, the panic, the desperation, the pre-emptive grief that she would try to fight, the nagging doubt that kept her up at night, the worry at seeing Manolo in the same state she was in, so distraught even his music was affected, the distress of helplessly watching her and Manolo’s moods slowly infect the children, so that even Valentina was having trouble smiling. Even the stress of the townspeople weighed down on her shoulders, clinging to her every day she made the trip to the doctor’s and back.

But then, then, a week later, Joaquin’s fever broke. Slowly the coughs that shook him even in unconsciousness began to fade. And finally, _finally_ , three and a half weeks after their hero had returned to them in pieces, Joaquin came back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that this chapter was originally getting pretty long, so I decided to split it up a bit. But don't worry, the next update should be soon!


	7. The (Real) Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What matters is that you're home, and that you're alive."

"Gott, warum ich wie scheiße fühlen?" It was weak and very hoarse, but audible. Maria jumped in her seat, knocked out of the book she had been reading (she never stopped, even if Joaquin never seemed to hear her). She hadn't noticed him stirring at all. Hurriedly she set the book aside and leaned in close to her husband. Had she really heard that? Was Joaquin really awake?

"Joaquin? Do you need something? You're speaking German, I can't understand you."

"Ich bin?" He asked, then shook his head a little bit as if to clear it. His movements and his words were slow. "I am? Sorry, my head is so...so jumbled...and _God_ do I feel like shit."

Maria chuckled, shifting back a bit. She was hesitant to let herself feel any of the relief that threatened to swallow her up.

"You've been through a lot, querido."

"Certainly...feels like it..." Joaquin sighed, blinking slowly. "How long...how long was I out?"

Maria bit her lip. She didn't want to alarm him at all, and she definitely didn't want to trigger a flashback of what landed him here in the first place. He’d had enough of those.

"What do you remember?" She asked instead. "From after you came home?"

Joaquin's eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated.

“Mostly pain. Everything’s really...really foggy, but that’s pretty much constant. I remember...I remember rain, and cold. And falling...then voices. Your voice. Manolo’s...a _lot_ of pain...Manolo singing...the doctor...and...and for some strange reason a really high-pitched weasel.” He said. When Maria looked at him with nothing but confusion, he shrugged, deadpan.

“I assume that was your father.”

There was a pause as Maria absorbed what he had said. Then she couldn’t stop laughing, doubling over with mirth. _Lord_ she could barely even _breathe_. Joaquin was _back_. He was making _jokes_. About her _father_. Her Joaquin was alive and (relatively) well and suddenly her face was really really wet even though she hadn’t stopped laughing. Joaquin was immediately alarmed by this.

“Hey, hey, don’t cryyy...why are you crying? It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m alive, I’m okay,” He tried to soothe her. He reached out for her, then paused as he noticed the cast around his right wrist.

“Maybe I’m...not as okay as I thought.” He said. Maria took the proffered hand gently, smiling. She hiccuped a few times as she recovered, shoulders still shaking. The relief of Joaquin _alive_ , really _truly_ alive made her heart hammer in her chest and just like that the emotions inside of her threatened to overflow again. She took a deep breath to prevent that, then another.

“It’s...it’s been a terrifying three weeks, Joaquin.” She accidentally let it slip.

“ _Three weeks!?_ ” Joaquin cried, bolting upright only to wince and fall back with a grunt.

“No, no!” Maria touched his shoulder to help guide him back down gently. “Don’t move. It takes longer than three weeks for broken ribs to heal.”

“Don’t I know it. _Jesus_.” Joaquin muttered bitterly.

“And longer for the leg.” Maria added. Joaquin seemed to start taking mental inventory of what hurt and how. He made an exasperated noise.

“What the hell happened?”

Maria clamped her mouth shut. She couldn't drag those memories up. She couldn't do that to him. She couldn't let him do that to himself. She had sat through too many of his nightmares.

"Maria, that was rhetorical." Joaquin said quietly, noticing her reaction. "I know what happened. I remember. It's...all hazy, but...I remember."

Maria didn't like the way his eye glazed over at that, how he stared off into the distance without seeing anything. She reached out to stroke his cheek.

"Joaquin..."

"It's okay, Maria," It didn't sound okay. "I...I can't talk about it. I can't..."

“Then don’t. Don’t even think about it. Do when you’re ready. And if ‘when’ is ‘never’ then that’s fine. What matters is that you’re home, and that you’re alive.” She kissed the palm of his hand. He smiled at the gesture, and shifted to press the hand against her cheek. His brow furrowed again when he (finally) noticed the tape across her nose and the yellowed bruising around it. Her broken nose wasn’t fully healed yet. His thumb brushed gently by the area.

“What happened to you?” He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Fight?”

“Getting you to calm down some nights was a fight, yes.” Maria allowed. His eye widened.

“I did that?” He gasped. He moved as if to try and sit up again, but Maria kept him down.

“It’s fine, Joaquin. Although,” She added with a smirk, “You gave Manolo quite a shiner too.”

That didn’t cheer him up.

“I’m so sorry--”

“Joaquin, you were delirious. You had no idea what was going on around you.” Maria told him.

"I was really that bad?" He murmured. He looked so upset that he had hurt her Maria wondered if lying to him would have been a better idea. But lying to Joaquin had never been something she was good at.

"You weren't just injured when you came back, Joaquin. You were really, really sick. And neither condition helped the other. That's why it's taken you so long to actually wake up."

"God it must have been awful."

It was. It was awful. Everything about this near month past had been awful. But for some reason a singular night stood out in Maria's memory.

"It could have been worse," she said in a grim tone, before looking away. The memory made her smile faintly. "You know...there was one night you woke up and...and...well, you didn't think we were bandits at least, but you didn't recognize us either."

"Why are you smiling like that's a good thing?" Joaquin asked skeptically. Maria's smile grew.

"Maybe it wasn't, but the first thing you said when you laid eyes on me was that I was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen in your life. I told you I was your wife and you didn't even believe me. I was too beautiful to be married to someone like you."

"I said that?"

"Sí. Then you turned over and the same exact thing happened with Manolo," Maria trailed off in a laugh. "You were so shocked. You thought you were the luckiest man in existence."

Joaquin was smiling too now, thumb stroking her cheek.

"I may not remember it," He said, eye crinkling with his smile, "but what I said was true. You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And Manolo is the most beautiful man. And the fact that I have both of you makes me the luckiest man alive."

Maria only had the strength for a weak laugh, tears threatening to spill over again. This didn't escape Joaquin's notice.

"Maybe I should stop talking. Every word I seem to say just makes you cry."

"It's because there were times when I thought I'd never hear you say them again." Maria sniffed. Joaquin took mock offense to that.

"Have a little more faith in me, please." He huffed, still smiling. "I'm a Mondragon. We don't go down that easily."

"Funny, that's what I told the children." She returned. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips.

"I'm just glad I have my big dumb hero back." She said when she pulled away. Joaquin smirked.

"Is there any chance the big dumb hero can get a few more pillows, please? I want to sit up."

Maria giggled, rolling her eyes. “Of course.”

She went over to the bureau in the corner of the room and retrieved the two pillows that sat atop it; they were usually used to prop Joaquin up when they needed him to eat or drink. With Maria’s help Joaquin slowly sat up, wincing but otherwise saying nothing. He leaned back against the pillows as Maria returned to her seat by his side.

“How are the kids? I--” He paused as he shifted, noticing something by his arm. He lifted up a small wooden sword. “...Isn’t this Valentina’s?”

“Yes. She insisted on you having it, in order to ‘fight off’ your illness.” Maria said with complete seriousness, although she was barely holding back laughter.

“Most of your get well presents are from the children, actually.” Maria added, grabbing some things from the bedside table and laying them in Joaquin’s lap. Most of these things were painted rocks or shells from the lakeshore. Joaquin’s jaw dropped.

“Awww,” he cooed, “They made these for me?”

He sifted through them. Some held little phrases such as “Get well soon” or “We love you Vater” or “Yor Awsum!” (that one was Valentina’s), while others had little faces painted on them. He gasped and held up one in particular.

“This one has a mustache!” His eye was sparkling, and he was so totally in awe he was whispering. “That’s _adorable_.”

Maria laughed.

“Sabía que le gustaría que uno.” She said. She lifted another gift delicately off the bedside table. This one happened to be a crown woven out of flowers; most of them were a golden yellow, but Luciana, being the actual weaver of the crown, stubbornly wove in a few blue ones as well.

“This is courtesy of Lucie and Teo. They almost got in a fist fight over whether your favorite color was blue or gold. Thankfully I settled that argument before it got too passionate, but as you can see, Luciana doesn’t like to lose.” Maria announced. Joaquin laughed, but it was quickly restrained; he didn't visibly wince, but Maria knew it was because of his ribs. Joaquin didn't let her focus on that, though.

"That's okay. I like blue too." Quickly, he bowed his head to Maria. "By all means, crown me."

Maria snickered as she placed the flower crown atop his head. When he straightened the crown sagged comically over the bandages over his left eye.

"Look at me, the King of Recovery." Joaquin grinned. Maria's snicker became a full laugh. It was a little ironic, what with some of the bruises still marring his face almost matching the flowers in shade. Joaquin looked no where near recovery, although Maria knew it to be true.

"Yes, you certainly are."

Joaquin looked somewhere over her shoulder, and his eyebrows furrowed with confusion and curiosity.

"Are those for me too?" He asked. Maria followed his gaze to the line of bouquets in vases along the windowsill; there were five in all. One of them was so big it nearly crowded all the others off. She stood and walked over to them, nodding.

“Maria, where are your medals? And your hair’s in a ponytail. You haven’t done that in ages.” Joaquin noted as she walked.

She wouldn’t tell him the real reason, that she never had the energy to braid her hair anymore, that every time she looked at any of her medals they reminded her of him, and that some days that was all it took to break her down.

“I usually come to visit you in the morning, before classes. I try to get here as soon as I can, so I just pull my hair back. It’s faster.” She told him instead.

“Oh.” Maria had a feeling Joaquin wasn’t totally convinced, but she was standing by the bouquets on the windowsill by then. He seemed willing to let her change the subject.

She lifted the nearest bouquet, a bunch of white carnations. "These are from Father Domingo and the sisters at the church."

Joaquin smiled appreciatively as she moved to the next bouquet, pathetically small and full of wilting flowers.

“These are from...well, the brigade tried. According to them flowers are a 'lady' thing, but when I offered to help, they got offended that a woman 'presumed' to know more than them about anything. But, like I said. They tried.” Maria kept her voice level, but Joaquin snorted all the same. The next bouquet was slightly larger and consisted completely of wildflowers.

“These are from the orphans, all handpicked from the meadow.” Maria said as she turned the vase around so Joaquin could see the rainbow of flowers included. "They saw the flowers from the nuns and wanted to send their own, so we took a big class trip."

“Well, they’re all very pretty.” He acknowledged, nodding his head. “I’ll have to thank them when I see them again.”

Maria moved on to the next bouquet. This one was an eclectic mix of flowers, no apparent rhyme or reason to them. But there certainly was.

“Now this one is technically from me and Manolo, but it was made on behalf of your sister.”

Joaquin’s eye widened. “Matilda?”

“Sí. She especially requested each type of flower or plant and included the meaning of each in this note. She also took care to only use those that are in season.” Maria began to read off of the note still attached to the bouquet. “There’s clover, for good luck...and garlic, for strength; white hyacinth, to say 'I’ll pray for you'; white heather for protection; red roses for love and respect; sweet basil, for good wishes; iris for hope; and...plenty of yarrows, for healing.”

Joaquin was speechless for a moment, taking it all in. His shoulders began to shake, and eventually he had to bite his fist to keep from laughing too hard.

“That is _so_ like her.”

“She wanted to come visit, but she said her studies have been so intense she’s practically living in the library.” Maria added.

“What, como si ella no es ya?” Joaquin scoffed. Maria chuckled, remembering the few times she had met Matilda Alexander (although she preferred her father’s surname, her mother never let her use it). Only a year younger than Maria herself, she was incredibly studious and valued nothing more than expanding her knowledge. She shared that with Maria, but only that; the girl hated anything to do with adventure, preferring instead to keep to her quiet and her books. She was very awkward when it came to social interactions, but she was polite and kind, if extremely reserved.

“She also got you this,” Maria picked a brown rectangular package off the bureau, carefully balancing a small wooden carving on top of it, “Oh, and by the way, this dragon carving is from the carpenter, Señor Bautista.”

“It’s beautiful.” Joaquin carefully set the carving aside, before opening the brown package. It--unsurprisingly--was a book, with a note attached to the front cover.

“ ‘Un libro sobre la anatomía’, “ Joaquin read slowly, squinting to read better, “ ‘de aprender acerca de su propia medida que sana.’ “

Maria laughed as he huffed in exasperation.

“Bücherwurm.” He grumbled, which only made her laugh harder.

“Definitely from your sister, alright.” She said as she calmed. Joaquin shook his head.

“I need to send Tilda a book on tact.” He murmured, putting the book down. His mood seemed to fall then, and when he looked at Maria he seemed hopeful, but...resigned, as if he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask.

“Is...is there anything from my mother?” He asked tentatively. Maria bit her lip, and shook her head.

“Nothing directly,” she said, reluctant. “But there’s a postscript on the note that Matilda sent for the flowers. It says: ‘Mama hopes you get well soon’.”

Joaquin nodded resolutely, as if that was all the answer he needed.

“At least she’s thinking of me.” He said quietly, to himself. Maria shifted. She had her own doubts as to whether or not Gertrude actually sent that message along, or Matilda simply made it up so Joaquin wouldn’t be hurt. In fact, Maria could easily believe that Matilda couldn’t come not because of her studies, but because her mother wouldn’t give her the money to travel to San Ángel. It was common knowledge that the reclusive widow wanted almost nothing to do with her son, but Joaquin never seemed to take that to heart. At least, he never admitted it to himself. Maria wasn’t about to burden him with her misgivings about the cold woman, however. Instead she moved towards the largest bouquet on the sill.

“And, finally, we have this one.” Maria tried to keep the distaste out of her voice as she gestured to the gaudy thing, making no attempt to lift it. At Joaquin’s suspicious appraisal of the gift, she smiled. “I have a feeling you already know who this one is from.”

He grimaced. “Please tell me it’s not…”

“Mmhm. Roma.”

His head fell back as he groaned dramatically. “I’ve _got_ to put that woman out of her misery.”

The woman in question was Roma Guerrera, the tailor’s sister. Since Joaquin was still an eligible bachelor according to public knowledge, there was no end to women chasing after him--and Roma was by far his most... _avid_ suitor.

“I still don’t know why you haven’t. Just tell her you’re not interested. I mean, you haven’t been 'interested' for over seven years. At this point you’d think she’d catch on.” Maria said, throwing her hands up.

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, Maria.”  Joaquin reached to pinch the bridge of his nose, but hit the flower crown. He instead opted to simply wipe his hand down his face. “Every time I try to tell her she just seems to think I’m not interested in settling down. Quote ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not interested in that sort of relationship either.’ unquote. Every time. It’s like she tunes out what I’m saying so she only hears what she _wants_ to hear.”

“You could be more...direct.” Maria suggested, trying not to laugh at his impression of the woman’s nasally voice. Joaquin frowned unamused.

“You mean exceedingly blunt? Krieger, that’s _your_ way of handling things.”

Maria clasped her hands behind her back and looked at the ceiling innocently.

“I could be ‘exceedingly blunt’, as you say,” She meandered, “or...I’m averagely honest and you’re just a huge pushover.”

Joaquin huffed a laugh as if the thought was an amusing joke.

“No, that’s not true. You know how I know that’s not true? Because my way of handling things doesn’t get me into _fistfights_.”

“You’ve gotten into--”

“ _Constantly_.”

“Pfft,” Maria scoffed, waving her hand dismissively, “not _constantly_. I haven’t gotten into a fight since--”

She froze. The dismissive hand withdrew.

“Mmhm. How many times while I was gone?” Joaquin asked knowingly. When she didn’t answer he blinked slowly, like a parent waiting for a child to admit their guilt. Maria looked away.

“...Ten.” She admitted finally.

“ _Ten_. See? This is why I don’t trust you at bars without me.”

“What was I supposed to do? The first time they wouldn’t stop harassing the poor girl. I had to say _something_. And the second time there was a mule--and--and okay, I have to defend my honor when _someone_ decides to be lewd about the dress I’m wearing--”

“Maria, Maria,” Joaquin raised a hand to stop her defensive rambling. He was grinning. “I get it. It’s fine. If anything I feel sorry for the saukerls that ended up in this bed before I did.”

Maria relaxed, letting herself smile. Their bickering was already so comfortable, it was as if Joaquin had never left in the first place. In all honesty, she missed it. She missed every second of it. And Joaquin missed it too.

Suddenly Maria was swept up in such a strong wave of just _love_ that she couldn’t resist. She twirled forward, laughing, back to the bedside. She cupped her big dumb hero’s face in her hands and bent forward, kissing him on the forehead. Then she kissed the bandages over his eye, then his nose, then his one cheek and then his other cheek. She peppered his face with kisses while he giggled until he shifted so their lips connected.

Maria smirked when they pulled away.

“You know, there are some days when I just want to go up to Roma and tell her ‘Too bad, he’s mine’. Right to her face.” She murmured.

“Some days I want that too.” He replied. “If only.”

Maria shrugged wordlessly as she sat back in the chair. She pulled it closer to the bed, chair legs scraping along the wood floor.

“Do you remember when I told you about how she tried to commission me for a portrait of you while you were away?”

His eye widened.

“I...don’t remember you telling me that? No, no, “ He shook his head, “let’s focus on the fact that _Roma_ tried to commission _you_ for a portrait of _me_?”

Maria nodded. Joaquin’s expression became fearfully alarmed.

“You didn’t do it did you?”

“I told her my reference image was out of town, and to ask me again when he returned.” Maria said simply. Joaquin visibly sagged with relief.

“And since you returned the way you did, I don’t think I’m going to hear anything about commissioned portraits any time soon.” She continued.

“Thank goodness.” Joaquin huffed.

“Do you remember anything I told you? You said you remembered my voice.” Maria asked. He shook his head slowly.

“Nothing specific. I...nope. Nada.” He shrugged apologetically.

“Well, when you first came home, you were...really freaking out.” Understatement. “But you seemed to calm down whenever you heard my voice. So I told you stories. I filled you in on everything you missed.”

“Aw, I wish I did remember.” Joaquin frowned.

“That’s okay. I could always fill you in again?"

Joaquin perked up. "I'd love that."

He did love it, a huge smile on his face as she once again told him everything that had happened while he was away. At some point during her tales their hands connected again, serving as a reassuring grip to remind Maria that he wasn't going anywhere. Story after story he listened to with rapt attention, hanging on her every word. She did save the best for last, though.

"Wait, when you say everyone laughed at Manolo's face, you don't mean...?" Joaquin asked, shock already taking over his features.

"Luciana too." Maria nodded. And she was right: Joaquin's jaw did drop.

"That's amazing." He looked just as proud as Maria had felt when it happened. "Has she done it since?"

"No," Maria shook her head, "but it's progress all the same. Baby steps."

Joaquin was still taking in the news.

"Still, that's, that's awesome. That...that must have been one hell of a face Manolo pulled." He finished incredulously. Maria giggled.

"It definitely was." She said. Joaquin nodded.

"Maybe I can get him to make the face again for me..." He trailed off and straightened, staring at the entrance to the room. Maria turned to look and almost ( _almost_ ) jumped. Dr. Chavez had yet again appeared in complete silence.

"Ah," he was smiling, eyes twinkling, "I was wondering why Maria hadn't left yet. It's good to see you awake again, Joaquin."

"It's good to be awake again, Doctor. I have you to thank for that, of course." Joaquin bowed his head graciously.

"I'm just doing my job, Señor." The doctor returned. And that is what jolted Maria out of her seat. Because after all, she had a job too. A job that, judging by how high the sun was in the sky, she was _very_ late for.

"Oh no, it's Wednesday! I can't believe I forgot about my class!"

Both men chuckled, but it was the doctor who spoke.

"I doubt they'll be angry about your tardiness, mi querida. If anything they'll be ecstatic at the good news."

"Oh, I'm sure of it. But a part of me doesn't want to leave." Maria sighed. She looked back down at Joaquin. They were still holding hands, and Joaquin lifted hers to kiss her knuckles.

"Maria, you should go. Manolo's probably still worrying his head off. He deserves to hear the good news too, don't you think?"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Why do you have to be right?" She smiled even though she whined, just a tiny hint of stubborn petulance shining through. Joaquin grinned.

"What can I say, I'm always right." At Maria's raised eyebrow, he shrugged, grin unperturbed. "Well, on rare occasions."

Joaquin let go of her hand, letting her move away.

"I'll try to come back tonight, I promise." Maria told him.

“I look forward to it.”

The doctor paused her in her exit.

“Señora, a word, if you will?” He asked. She nodded, and he guided her aside. He kept his voice quiet, out of earshot of Joaquin.

“I’m certain Joaquin and Manolo will be very eager to see each other, but, if at all possible, could you maybe convince Manolo to wait a little while before visiting? Tell him to come this afternoon, if you can.” Dr. Chavez said. “I’m as overjoyed as you are that Joaquin’s back, but he’s still not fully recovered and he still needs his rest. He’s pulled through; let’s keep it that way.”

Maria nodded.

“Of course,” she smiled gratefully. “And thank you, for everything. I don’t think today would have been possible if it weren’t for you, so gracias, from the bottom of my heart.”

“Ah, de nada. Like I told Joaquin, I’m just doing my job.” The doctor dismissed her, but she could see the happiness in his eyes. “If anything I could say the same to you. You and Manolo both. Fighting for someone you love can bring a man back from the dead. You know that as much as I do.” He winked at that, and she laughed.

“I do...do you think the children could come visit tomorrow?” Maria asked.

“I’ll have to wait and see how Joaquin manages for the rest of the day, but I’ll send Manolo home with the verdict, de acuerdo?”

“Sí. Adiós, Doctor.” She pulled away, waving to Joaquin. “Adiós, Joaquin.”

“Adiós, Maria.” He waved back. A part of Maria wanted to cry tears of joy just because of that wave.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Joaquin's back!  
> I wish I could be more consistent with these chapter lengths :P oh well.


	8. Good News...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's back! He's back, he's back he's back!"

As soon as Maria was out the door, she broke into a full on sprint. She felt like her feet could take her anywhere faster than any horse could. The sun was high overhead as if the heavens were just as happy as she was. With wind in her hair and joy in her heart, she laughed. She laughed and laughed and waved at the townspeople she flew past. Some stared at her as if she was mad, but they would catch on soon enough. The Hero of San Ángel was back; soon the whole town would be rejoicing.

She hurried home as fast as she could, taking every shortcut she knew to get to the Sanchez home in the shortest time possible. This required a little bit of her kung fu skills as she vaulted over fences and rolled over crates. But the burn in her muscles was so worth it. She just felt so _happy_.

Chuy was dozing on the front steps of Casa del Sanchez when she forgoed opening the gate for ostentatiously flipping over it. He stirred when he heard her feet pounding down the path. He squealed with surprise when she pulled him into a big hug.

“Chuy! Mi cerdo!” Maria laughed. “What are you doing sleeping? Don’t you know it’s a day to celebrate?”

She squished his cheeks between her hands. “Come on, we have to tell everyone!”

When Maria burst through the door, Chuy following behind, Manolo was already in the front room. He looked just as haggard as he had the past month, but all Maria could think of was how that was going to change in a few moments, and the thought made her grin like a maniac.

“Amor, there you are,” Manolo sounded concerned, “I thought that was you. Where have you been? It’s so late in the day, I thought--is…” He trailed off as he realized she was far giddier than he’d seen her in a long time.

She couldn’t even form the right words to tell him, so she just waited, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Manolo was incredibly put off.

“Maria, what--why are you so--what’s going on? What…” Watching Manolo connect the dots was like watching a firework. His face scrunched up as he focused, thinking it through. The only reason Maria would be so happy right now was if...then a burst of color in all directions. Dark eyebrows flew up, honey eyes went wide, tanned jaw fell slack. It made Maria smile wider.

“W-wait. Are you--is he--is he _really_ \--?” He stammered, not ready to believe it. Laughter bubbled up from Maria’s chest as she nodded.

“Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“Oh my God!”

"I know!"

" _Oh my God!_ " He ran to her yelling, picking her up in his arms. They laughed as he swung her around and around.

“Put me down! You’re making me dizzy!” Maria cried breathlessly. He obediently set her down. He was still laughing, although tears streamed down his face now. Maria thought to say something, but favored action instead of words. So she yanked Manolo down to her level by his tie, crashing their lips together. His hands threaded into her hair as he eagerly reciprocated the kiss. And, because she couldn’t resist (and just because she could), she dipped him, eliciting a muffled cry against her lips. Manolo didn’t break the kiss however, in fact he seemed to be fighting not to laugh into it. He happily let Maria continue to kiss him until they both gave up on the not laughing pretense. Maria helped him back to his feet. They were holding on to each other’s arms, eyes filled with unbridled glee.

Finally Maria giggled and bounced on her feet. “He’s back.”

“He’s back.” Manolo repeated, grinning. He seemed to be getting infected by her energy. Suddenly it was like Maria couldn’t stop saying the words. They sounded so beautiful now.

“He’s back! He’s back, he’s back he’s back!” She cried, spinning them in little dance. Manolo bounced along with her, laughing. It was like they were little kids again, free to run and dance and be wild and free. But after the third or fourth spin, Manolo simply pulled her into a close embrace. It had a calming effect on the two, and Maria found the energy pooling inside of her, cooling into pure _happiness_ , if that were possible.

“Thank the gods.” Manolo whispered into her hair. Hugs like this, when Maria could hear his heartbeat through his chest, feel his warmth in her arms--times when they both felt so alive and so happy together that it wasn't just two people hugging, it was two people becoming one with joy--these hugs were her favorite. Maria would be content to stay like this all day, but of course, responsibility nagged. She pulled away.

“Is he still awake?” Manolo spoke first. “I need to see him!”

He already seemed to be moving towards the door; Maria halted him by grabbing onto his crumpled tie again.

“Hold your horses, guitarrista. I know you want to see him, but he’s been awake for a while now, and he’s still pretty beat. Dr. Chavez said wait until the afternoon, just so Joaquin can rest for a little bit.”

Manolo pouted. Maria tried not to laugh.

“Please? It’s the doctor’s orders.” She added. Manolo sighed.

“Alright.”

“You can write him a ‘welcome back’ song, or something.” Maria fixed his tie for him, pressing out the wrinkles and tucking it back into his vest. “Did you drop the kids off at the orphanage?”

“Sí. When you didn’t come home, I figured you went straight to the orphanage. When I left the children, the nuns said you weren’t there. They figured you were running late, so they were going to start lessons without you.”

“Well, that’s good. At least they didn’t just leave the children idle. I’m going to head over there now. Can I trust you not to visit Joaquin?” She raised an eyebrow at him, hands on her hips. Manolo nodded, smiling.

“I actually have ring practice today.” He said, referring to the bullring. Thanks to a gratuitous bending of the rules (that most of the townspeople were willing to allow), Manolo could continue bullfighting _without_ killing the bull. If anything, the man returned to the sport with far more gusto than ever before. It wasn’t that he hated bullfighting, necessarily, Manolo had explained. He hated the “stabby-stabby-kill-the-bull part” (Joaquin’s eloquent words at the time), sure. But mostly it was that he couldn’t also play the guitar; no one ever seemed interested in letting him be both, only in forcing him to choose between the two. Seven years down the road and Manolo had managed to find a comfortable balance, juggling guitar lessons not only at the orphanage but all across town, as well as almost weekly performances with the Rodriguez brothers, and the occasional corrida, almost once a month. This past month there had been no such performance, due to the town wide distraction of Joaquin’s return, but Manolo had believed that a good bullfight now might lift everyone’s spirits. Including his own.

 _Now it can be a celebration_ , Maria thought. The performance wasn’t for another week: hell, by then Joaquin might even be strong enough to go.

“I was just about to head out when you came home.” Manolo continued.

“Alright, well, you be safe out there, _torero_.” Maria patted the spot over his heart. He caught her hand and held it there, smile soft.

“I always am.”

“Tell me that when you _don’t_ come home missing part of your ear.” Maria teased. _That_ had been a very scary day three years ago, although Maria supposed it now paled in comparison to the day Joaquin returned. Manolo’s free hand flew to the ear in question. Most of the outer shell of his right ear was entirely gone, taken away by a horn Manolo hadn’t quite dodged during a pass. As a result his hearing was a little funny, but the guitarist took it in his stride and quickly adapted. He was still a little self-conscious about it, though.

“That was _one time_.” He whined indignantly.

“Yes, and I’m grateful it was ‘ _one time_ ’. Now go,” Maria laughed, shoving him towards the door. “Before the bulls get hungry for lunch.”

Instead of obeying the force of her shove, he used it to pull her in for a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you again tonight, amor.” He murmured. Maria smiled.

“I look forward to it.” She returned.

She watched after him as he left, laughing when he did a little happy jump and clicked his heels together in mid-air. When she went back inside, she ran upstairs to the mirror in their bedroom. It was as she thought: her hair was a wild mess from her run. Dragging a brush through her thick curls quickly (or as quickly as one could when they had as incredibly thick curls as Maria), she decided to braid her hair. As she did so she glanced over to the box where she kept most of her medals. Her mind jumped back to her earlier conversation with Joaquin. Grinning, she opened the box and picked out a few. She didn’t have the time to weave in many, but she chose the ones from her favorite escapades with Joaquin. He would like that, when she saw him tonight.

Once her hair was complete, Maria quickly hurried out to the orphanage.

The orphanage was a squat building right next to the rectory. It was run down with age and wear-and-tear, and the roof sagged as if a circus elephant was sleeping on it, but Maria always thought it had a bit of a homey feel. Worn red bricks exuded warmth, and it seemed vibrant with love and life. There was always the pervading smell of dust and mothballs, but there was always the smell of fresh bread and home cooked meals, too. The orphanage used to serve as a hospital during the revolution, back when there weren't as many orphans and the town had a far more formidable brigade to defend it. Walking along the beds on the second floor, it was easy to imagine Dr. Chavez--and maybe even his mother and father, steadfast nurse and doctor respectively--darting from bed to bed rapidly, attending the wounded and ill. Since then time had worn away the anguish and agony that once filled the place and replaced it with kindness and comfort. Everything about the building seemed soft and inviting, even if it didn't look like it at first glance. The church had taken a once depressing building and turned it into, well, a home.

The nuns who ran it also did their best to maintain the building, with the help of the children themselves to tend to the garden or clean the floors. It was never a punishment, as household chores often were for Maria at the convent. In fact, Maria would never go so far as to compare the San Ángel orphanage to that wretched place. Save for Sister Hortensia and Sister Inés, the Convent of the Perpetual Flame of Purity was a terrible, terrible dungeon of a place. No girl was ever happy there, forced to sit up straight and hold her tongue. The only time any of the girls at the convent had any fun at all was when the aforementioned nuns would sneak them away in small groups to teach them the things girls "shouldn't be learning". It was like a great undercover education ring; Hortensia and Inés were working on the inside to save strong young girls from becoming mindlessly obedient housewives. Under those two, trips to ancient churches would become secret adventures to beautiful museums or stunning libraries. Lessons on posture and etiquette would become lessons on--of course--fencing and Kung fu. All of the things Maria loved about Spain could be attributed to those two. But the rest of the time, it was like a prison. Day after day the same routine, the same grueling lessons administered by the same cruelly strict nuns, the same cold, mushy food. If you stepped one toe out of line, even on accident, punishment was swift and severe--and usually involved some sort of manual labor. Being who she was, it was often Maria at these tasks, scrubbing the floors and folding laundry, hands still smarting from where they'd been rapped with a ruler. When chores didn't work, there was the closet: a dusty, moldy, dark place that was never cleaned and never lit. If you caused too much trouble--as Maria was prone to do--they would dump you in there, with no one and nothing to keep you company (Chuy couldn’t even sneak his way in). You had to stay absolutely silent, or your time inside would be increased; if you were inside, you were given no food and no water, to "encourage" you to "learn your lesson" faster. Some days the loneliness would eat away at her and Maria wouldn't make a sound, shortening her time only because she couldn't outlast the pain. Some days she would scream her lungs out just so they would keep her in there longer. Her record was four days, before she collapsed.

There was no closet at the San Ángel orphanage, and no cruel nuns with cruel rulers. Maria thanked the heavens every day that no such torture had found its way here. Here mistakes were met with gentle guidance. Chores were simply chores, tasks to complete in order to move on to fun. God wasn't going to strike you down for not saying 'please', He would encourage you to try again until you remembered. The nuns were kind, and they were patient, and they were loving: they were determined to become the mothers these children may never have. Maria loved this place, and she loved teaching the kids. They were so eager to learn, sometimes it was as if Maria was rubbing it into those devilish nuns' faces. _See? Children can learn without pain. Children can be brilliant without force. Education can be enjoyed._

Walking into the orphanage now, Maria could hear her class--which included the orphans, her own children, and the children of families who could not otherwise educate their own, who wanted to give their children a chance to become more than they ever were--in the room to her left. The first floor of the orphanage was split between two large rooms by a short hallway that ended in a staircase that always sagged but never gave under the weight. The room to her right was a sort of mess hall for the kids. The room to her left had been a rather unfurnished playroom, but with Maria's--and Manolo's and Joaquin's--help they had transformed it into a classroom that could fit practically everyone. This was the room Maria entered.

Rows of desks all pointed towards the right side of the room, which had been fitted with a chalkboard (acquired with the help of Joaquin's sister). The room was not filled to capacity: a small group clustered at the desks towards the middle and front of the room. It was very easy to pick out the blond curls of Teodoro. Luciana and Valentina, and all the children around their age were taught earlier in the morning, in a separate group to accommodate their learning speeds; they were now outside playing. Technically Teodoro was beyond the learning speed of most of the other children in his group, but he had plenty of extra tutoring at home from his parents.

Maria had arrived just before lunch, which was silent reading time. Everyone had a book on their desks, and Sister Dolores was darting from desk to desk, making sure the students were understanding the material and defining and pronouncing new words they had never seen before. The children were dutifully engrossed, so it was only the sister who noticed her enter. Sister Dolores was a rather rotund woman, and squeezing between the narrow rows of desks was no speedy feat for her. It was a good minute before she got to Maria, who waited patiently.

"Oh, Maria! I wasn't sure if you'd come." The nun kept her voice down. "Your husband was really quite worried about you. Is everything alright?"

Maria nodded with a smile.

"Yes, everything's fine. Better than fine, actually. I'm sorry I'm so late, sister. It's just..." She leaned in to whisper quietly in her ear. There was no need to distract the children from their reading.

Sister Dolores's gasp nearly did anyway. Maria hushed her.

"Let's not bother the kids. I'm going to announce it at lunch." She winked. Sister Dolores was almost bouncing with delight. It was strange to see such energy from the otherwise demure nun.

"Oh, this is wonderful news!" It was obvious what a fight it was to keep her own voice down. "Everyone will be so glad to hear it!"

“I’m sure.” Maria chuckled.  “Do you want me to take over here?”

The youngest sister of the church shuffled her feet and twiddled her fingers.

“If you don’t mind,” She said, “I want to tell the other sisters, and Father Domingo. Oh, they’ll all be so pleased!”

She made to leave then, but paused. Sister Dolores took Maria's hand in her own.

"Our prayers have been answered." She told her warmly. Maria nodded in agreement. With that, the nun departed.

Maria quietly made her way to a desk that was smack dab in the middle of the room, but at the back of the group of kids. The little blonde boy sitting there didn't even notice her kneel down next to him. Not that Maria would ever expect Teodoro to notice his surroundings once he was engrossed in a book. Maria didn't think it possible, but the boy was just as much of a book worm as Matilda--if not more so. He had certainly surpassed Maria's own reading ability when she was his age. He was currently reading two books at once: a mystery novel at home, and a book on botany here at school.

"Hola, Teo." She whispered, making him jump.

"Mama!" He almost yelled. After furtively glancing around to make sure he hadn’t drawn any attention to himself, he smiled, bashful. “Hola. I...I didn’t think you’d be coming today. I...I thought…” He paused, seeming to think better of his words. In this instance, Maria decided to encourage him to speak his mind.

“You thought what?”

“...I thought you were too sad to teach us today.”

“No,” Maria shook her head, “thankfully no. I’m not too sad today. In fact, it’s the opposite. I just ran a little late, that’s all.”

Teodoro seemed to scrutinize her then, eyes darting from her hair to her eyes to her mouth and back again. Then his bright blue eyes widened--his thick reading glasses exaggerated this to almost a comical extent--and Maria knew he had made the connection between her mood and her tardiness. She hushed him before he could get very far though.

“Don’t worry, Teo. I’m going to tell everyone at lunch.” She winked. He grinned, and Maria couldn’t help but notice one of his two front teeth was at an odd angle.

“M’ijo, are your teeth okay?” She asked. Teo nodded, and used his tongue to wiggle it.

“It’s loose. The first one!” He whispered excitedly. Maria chuckled.

“Oooh, that’s exciting. Should we tie it to a door to get rid of it faster?”

Immediately he clamped his mouth shut, and Maria tried not to laugh.

“Sorry Toro, I’m just teasing. I couldn’t resist. Don’t worry, we won’t do anything of the kind.”

He huffed a tentative laugh, but all seemed well.

“Now,” Maria shifted into her teacher self easily, “is there anything you’ve read today that’s confusing? I remember warning you that this book had a lot of scientific jargon that even _I_ might not understand.”

“No. I’m fine.” The boy shook his head. Maria honestly didn’t expect any other answer.

“Alright then,” she said, straightening, “try to keep that secret, m’ijo.”

Teodoro nodded vigorously. If it had been any other child Maria would have expected them to be too excited, too distracted by the news to go back to reading; Teo’s head immediately dropped back down to his book, re-engrossed in a second. Oh, Teo.

Maria resumed Sister Dolores’s task, going from desk to desk to make sure the children were reading well. There were only eight children in this group--most children were adopted by the time they were as old as Teodoro. In fact, only two of the children were orphans, the others being local kids looking for an education. As she passed from child to child, she received several quiet compliments about her hair, but no one made the connection that Teo had. Satisfied that everyone was doing alright, she went and sat in the small chair at the front of the classroom. She pulled out a small book from under the chair: reading time for the children was reading time for her too, unless one of them needed her help. Yet she couldn’t become engrossed like Teo could. Her mind kept drifting back to the soldier across town, alive and relatively well, and she couldn’t focus at all. She read the same paragraph five times before giving up. She needed to think of the proper way to announce this to the children anyway--she couldn’t just tell them that Joaquin wasn’t dying anymore.

It wasn’t long before Sister Dolores popped in, positively beaming with glee.

“Alright, kids! Lunch time!” Maria announced. Books were closed one after the other, a discordant beat as some kids kept reading a little longer. It surprised her a little that Teodoro closed his book immediately, whereas usually he was the last to do so. But today was a special day. She only hoped he didn’t go straight to his sisters to tell them the news. She loved her daughter but Valentina had inherited Manolo’s inability to lie.

Maria left the room last alongside Sister Dolores, following slowly after the children darting into the mess hall from both the classroom and from outside.

“How did the sisters react?” She asked casually. The nun giggled.

“Oh, I believe Sister Ana almost fainted with shock! They’re all very pleased. They’re very happy for you and your family. We know how much he means to you all.”

“Thank you very much.” Maria smiled.

“When do you plan on telling the children?”

“After lunch. I don’t want to distract them from their meal.”

The mess hall was abuzz with activity. Children filed into a line towards the back anteroom, which had been fashioned into a kitchen. Sister Dolores bypassed the line and vanished into the kitchen, presumably to help Mother Superior clean up. Sister Galenia stood outside the door, a tower of bowls stretching high above the diminutive old woman’s head. Children took a bowl and a spoon from her with a polite “Gracias”. Sister Ana stood beside Sister Galenia with a massive pot of what today’s lunch was--soup--doling it out to children as they passed. The efficiency of meals at the orphanage never failed to impress Maria. Meal in hand the children then grouped off to sit at one of three long tables. All in all there were only about twenty kids at the orphanage; the children that came from homes left for lunch, save for Maria’s children. She could see them now, already having their lunch. Valentina talked down the table to a few girls, but other than that, she, Luciana, and Teodoro sat apart from the other kids. It wasn’t on purpose, but two out of the three Sanchez children didn’t quite match the status quo. Luciana couldn’t really communicate with anyone outside of her siblings; and because of her tongue--or lack thereof--she ate in a way that tended to freak the other kids out. Teodoro, on the other hand, well, he was just...different. He was paler than everyone else, he had lighter eyes than everyone else. And when he spoke, his voice was just a tad bit off.

It wasn’t the boy’s fault, obviously. He was left asleep on the doorstep of the orphanage when he was only three years old, and awoke speaking only english. No one knew who left him or where he came from. When he had finally grasped spanish enough to communicate, he couldn’t remember much either. A big white house; a green lawn; a woman with curly blonde hair like his own. Teodoro’s shyness and timidity didn’t warm him up to the others, and in the end he found solace in books. But if you had the diligence and the curiosity to keep talking to him, eventually he’d open up into happy little boy eager to share his knowledge.

Now he bounced in his seat, and every time Valentina asked him why he was so jumpy he only shook his head. Maria contemplated eating with them, as she did some days, but decided against it. She felt like she’d give away the news if she did.

When she reached Sister Galenia, the nun shook her head.

“Meat in the soup. Hoy no, querida.” The gruff woman told her, not unkindly. Maria would have to go into the kitchen and make something for herself, then.

“I believe Mother Superior set aside a bowl for you before adding the meat.” Sister Ana said, gesturing towards the kitchen with her ladle. Maria could see the nun was shaking, but it was obviously out of excitement. She was as excited about the announcement as Teodoro was, apparently.

“Okay. Thank you.” She smiled warmly as she passed between the two and through the door to the kitchen. Mother Superior was--as Maria had guessed--cleaning up the kitchen, putting away ingredients with the help of Sister Dolores.

“Hola, Reverend Mother,” Maria greeted, “Here, I can help--”

“No, no, Maria,” Mother Superior refused, smiling. “Sister Dolores and I can handle everything here.” She gestured to the stove. “There’s a bowl of soup on the stove for you; I set it aside before adding the meat so you wouldn’t have to worry about lunch.”

“Thank you very much, Mother.” Maria said, picking up the bowl gingerly. It was just on the cusp of cool enough to touch. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“Thank you for offering, dear, but you go enjoy your lunch. We’ll be out in just a moment.” Mother Superior insisted.

“Alright.”

Maria held the door open for Sister Galenia and Sister Ana, who were passing through to drop off the extra utensils and the pot of soup. As she walked to the small table where the nuns usually sat for their own meal, Teo managed to catch her eye and waved, the girls following suit. Maria waved back with a smile. She hoped they wouldn’t be too disappointed that she didn’t sit with them today.

When the nuns finally joined her at the table, she wasn’t surprised that the conversation revolved mostly around Joaquin. She quietly explained how the soldier had awoken, and while it would still be a while before he was fully recovered, he wasn’t sick anymore. All four nuns were completely ecstatic (each in their own particular way) and again and again told Maria how happy they were and how everyone’s prayers had been answered. While normally that would start to get on her nerves, Maria felt too happy herself to mind. She answered all their questions as best she could, and she made sure to convey Joaquin’s appreciation for the bouquet they sent.

All too soon lunch was finished, and before Maria had a chance to gather her thoughts Sister Galenia was clearing away her bowl (she assured the nun that the soup was delicious, and again, thank you very much for setting aside a bowl without meat) and Mother Superior was gaining the attention of the kids. Some of the other kids who went home for lunch were already back, so the room was even more full.

“Children, children! Senora Posada-Sanchez has very special news for us all!” Mother Superior announced.

Maria rose to her feet and took Mother Superior’s place in front of her audience. All of the children--including her own--were staring at her with rapt attention. Well, here goes.

“As you all know, a few weeks ago our favorite town hero returned home very ill.” Maria began, choosing her words carefully. Some of the children were still too young to fully understand the concept of death. “And we were all very very scared that he might not get better. A week ago he fell into a deep sleep so he could try to get better.”

Some of the children looked tentatively hopeful; others looked concerned. All were curious.

“Well, I have some good news.” Maria grinned. “Joaquin is awake! And he’s no longer sick!”

The sound of gasps was quickly swallowed up by a wave of cheers and applause and general celebration. It was practically deafening. Maria laughed as she watched Valentina leap up from her seat and start dancing around; Lucie and Teo’s smiles were wide and as bright as the sun.

“He’s back to save the day!”

“Nothing will bring him down!”

“Joaquin is awesome!”

Maria waited patiently for the kids to quiet down on their own. They did after a few moments, but then, eager and curious as they were, they started asking questions.

“Can he visit?”

“Did he like the flowers?”

“Did he say hi?”

“Does he have _two_ eyepatches now?”

“Niños, niños!” Maria raised her hands to recapture their attention. They obediently hushed for her, although practically none of them were sitting still.

“No, he does not have two eyepatches now, Milo.” She addressed first with a chuckle. Milo blushed but didn’t stop smiling. “And yes, he was was very grateful for the flowers you sent him.” She nodded. There was another short round of cheering.

“Unfortunately Joaquin is still recovering and is still bedridden, so he won’t be able to come visit for a while.” She continued. The whole room seemed to deflate, and there was a cacophony of “aw”s and a few “darn”s. Maria couldn’t find it in her heart to leave them like that. Especially when she was being bombarded with an onslaught of puppy-dog eyes. She sighed in mock exasperation.

“Now, don’t get your hopes up, but if he’s feeling up to it he may be able to come to the corrida next week, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you then. How does that sound?”

She was met with a chorus of cheers.

As happy as she was with the children, the rest of the day couldn’t go by fast enough. It couldn’t go by fast enough for the kids either, especially her own. The first thing Valentina said to her when Maria walked with her and Luciana to the younger kids’ afternoon class--well, no. Valentina didn’t say; she berated.

“Why’d you have to go and scare me like that, Mama! I thought--I thought you were gonna say he was died!” The little spitfire cried. Maria chuckled.

“Not ‘was died’, ‘was dead’, Tina.” She corrected. Valentina’s jaw dropped.

“He’s _dead_?” She shrieked.

“No, no! Didn’t I just say he was fine? I was just correcting your grammar. Cálmate, m’ija.” Maria tried to pat the girl’s shoulder, but she was already bouncing out of reach.

“How can I be calm when Vater’s awake! Oh, can we see him? Can we see him? I know you said everyone else can’t see him but aren’t we special? Did he end up using my sword? Did he like the gifts we sent? _Please_ can we go see him?”

Maria had her work cut out for her.

In similar fashion most of the children at the orphanage were far too excited to focus. It was bad enough that Maria almost regretted telling them at all. Almost--she couldn’t not tell them. As it were, she managed to wrangle them to attention by teaching them about rocks, minerals, and metals, using her own medals and citing Joaquin’s as example. Connecting the day’s lesson to the soldier helped the children settle down a little.

Unfortunately, even running around with the other kids outside while Maria taught the older kids’ second lesson did not wear down Valentina’s enthusiasm. She kept running ahead as the family walked home that evening, prompting Maria to yell after her several times. Teodoro and Luciana were just as overjoyed as their baby sister, but at least their ways of expressing their excitement didn’t send Maria into a panic. As a last resort she threatened cancelling any visits at all.

“But Mama, you can’t!” Valentina whined.

“You don’t know your way around San Ángel yet, mi’ja.” Maria scolded. “You could have taken a wrong turn and gotten lost!”

Valentina didn’t seem too bothered by that until Maria added:

“It would have taken us hours to find you. You would have missed dinner.”

“No!” The five-year-old gasped. If there was one thing Maria could count on it was Valentina’s love of food.

Thankfully, that exchange convinced Valentina to behave, relatively, for the rest of the night. Still, it was a relief when Maria finally got the children to bed. Somewhat. She could still hear Valentina whispering excitedly to Luciana when she pressed her ear to the door. Maria sighed; maybe Lucie would be able to convince her sister to _go to sleep_.

Maria nearly collapsed in Joaquin’s armchair when she got downstairs. As happy as she herself was, this day had been exhausting. First Joaquin waking up, then telling everyone, then dealing with everyone’s excitement, then dealing with _Valentina’s_ excitement...she yawned, but forced herself to remain standing. After all, her day wasn’t done yet. She promised to visit Joaquin again.

Manolo hadn’t come home for dinner, so Maria assumed he ate with Dr. Chavez and his wife, so he could spend more time with Joaquin. He should be back any minute. With another yawn she headed out the door, half-mumbling a command for Chuy to watch the kids. The pig snorted from his spot by the stairs, pushing himself to a sitting position to begin his shift as (minor) guard pig. Maria would never leave the children completely alone, but often her desire to visit Joaquin made her walk to the edge of their street and turn the corner, just to wait for Manolo. It had become routine by this point: the two would embrace and swap news, then go their separate ways, Maria to the doctor's and Manolo home. Luckily on this night she didn’t have too long to wait.

She spotted Manolo at the far end of the street, at the exact moment he spotted her. He had his guitar out and was strumming idly, but he stopped and grinned.

“Maria!”

“Manolo!”

They met in the middle. Maria paused and let him move his guitar out of the way before hugging him.

“How are the kids?” He asked as they pulled away.

“Oh, they’re elated. Ecstatic. Excited. Many words that begin with ‘e’. Energetic comes to mind…” Maria told him. “In fact, I’m sure if you _entered_ the girls’ room, Valentina’s _eyes_ would still be open. She’s _emulating_ an owl tonight. Or trying to.”

Manolo bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“And I’m correct in assuming all the children at the orphanage were _equally exultant_?” He added, shoulders shaking.

“Euphoric.” Maria nodded, still serious. Manolo truly laughed then.

“How _exceptional_.”

Even Maria had to snort at that. She rested a hand on the small of his back as he repositioned his guitar so he could play again. They walked towards their home in perfect step.

“Did the doctor say anything about the kids being able to visit?”

“Joaquin was all for it, but Dr. Chavez was a little wary. He doesn’t want Joaquin to strain himself too much. I know they won’t like it, but we should probably wait another day or two.” Manolo said.

“De acuerdo. But you’re the one who’s going to tell them.” Maria shrugged, to Manolo’s begrudging groan.

“Fiiiine.”

Maria nudged him gently. “You know it’s not that bad.”

“Then why are you making me do it?”

“Touché.”

Manolo chuckled. “I really don’t mind.”

“Lo sé.”

After a few moments of content silence and quiet strumming, Maria spoke again.

“How is he?”

“He…” Manolo trailed off in awestruck joy. “He really is back.”

“I knew it, you cried.” Maria teased.

“So what if I did?” Manolo shot back unperturbed. “The love of my life has fought his way off his deathbed. And you cried too!”

“You have no proof.”

“Joaquin told me, amor.” He side-eyed her with a smirk.

“Damn.” She huffed.

“I mean, it was almost strange, hearing him talk like, like he was never ill at all.” He continued, then he snickered. “The first thing I heard him say while I was waiting outside--Dr.Chavez was checking on his injuries, I didn’t want to interrupt--was, and I quote between grunts of pain, ‘Are you sure I can’t have some whiskey? Or some scotch? I’d settle for a beer, at this point.’”

Maria laughed at his lousy impression of the soldier. He always looked so ridiculous when he tried to imitate Joaquin: his entire mouth would twist to the left, he’d almost go cross-eyed as his brow furrowed with concentration, his chin would sink into his neck, and he’d tilt his head side-to-side as he spoke. By this point he knew it was by no means an accurate portrayal (although he’d swear up and down it was), and he mostly did it to poke fun at his husband.

“I was already crying then. Just hearing his voice...and then, when I walked in the first thing he said was ‘Don’t be hysterical, please. Maria scared the shit out of me.’”

“Aw, I didn’t mean to.” Maria frowned, remembering her promise to visit the soldier again. “I’ll have to apologize.”

With a squeeze to his shoulder, Maria turned away from Manolo, to head to the doctor’s.

“Well, I’ll see you later toni--”

“Wait!” Manolo reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Maria’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Joaquin--Dr. Chavez said to stay home. Let him rest.”

One eyebrow raised.

“Dr. Chavez.”

“S-sí.” Manolo nodded. His smile was forced. “Doctor’s orders.”

“And what did Joaquin say about this?” Maria asked.

“That he wished he could see you tonight, but he is tired. And--and he’ll still be here in the morning.”

Well _that_ sounded rehearsed.

“Right. And _what else_ did he say?” Maria scrutinized her husband knowingly. He waffled a little under her gaze.

“That he loves us with all his heart…?” Manolo probably didn’t mean to end that as a question, but Maria heard it anyway. It was only a few more seconds under her stare before he caved with a sigh.

“He made me promise not to tell you, but he said you looked like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“He said we both do. We both look exhausted. He wanted us to ‘get some sleep. For once.’” Manolo explained. “And he did say that he’ll still be here in the morning.”

Maria had half a mind to ignore Joaquin’s request and go visit him anyway. She wouldn’t deny she had been looking forward to it all day.

“Please?” Manolo tried. “It’s Joaquin’s orders.”

Maria chuckled at his reference to their earlier conversation and rolled her eyes. Joaquin was right--they were both still exhausted and stressed from all that had happened.

“Joaquin’s orders.” she grumbled with a smile. Manolo smiled, genuinely this time. He held out his elbow and she took it. Once again they fell in step as they rounded the corner towards home.

“So, did you play him a ‘welcome back’ song?” Maria asked.

“No,” Manolo shook his head. “I couldn’t come up with anything good. However,” He continued, slightly forced. “I did get a request.”

“Really? What?”

“You _had_ to tell him about the vegetable song.” Manolo groaned exasperatedly. Maria beamed.

“Oh my god! He asked you to play it?” She tried not to giggle for her husband’s sake, but it was hard not to.

“Why, Maria? Why did you have to tell him that story?”

“I had to tell him about everything he’s missed!” Maria defended herself. “It’s not my fault he wanted to hear it.”

“I swear to God, it is the worst song I have _ever_ written.” Manolo huffed.

“I disagree. I think it’s cute.” Maria grinned. He glowered at her.

“No you don’t. You just think it’s funny. You just think it’s funny because it failed so astronomically.”

“That’s not true.” Okay. It was true. But she loved teasing him about it.

“Really?” He deadpanned. He stopped walking and played a few opening chords. They echoed in the alley they had stopped in front of. His posture became grand and over dramatic, like he was truly swept away by his own music.

“There was never a man as great as Tulio! No one as strong and as powerful as he!” Manolo began to sing. “One day he sat down, and to all he said: Do you want to know how to be strong like me?”

The melody picked up.

“IIII eat my brussel sprouts! I eat my brussel sprouts! I eat my peppers and my peas and my broc-co-li!”

Maria doubled over with laughter, just as she had when he first sang it to the children. He didn’t continue the song, breaking down into laughter with her.

“Worst. Song. Ever.” He gasped.

“Best.” Maria laughed, hands on her knees. “You mean best!” Lord she was laughing so hard she was snorting like a pig.

“I think for once I agree with the boy.” An unfamiliar voice from the shadows of the alleyway gave their laughter sudden pause. “That truly was awful.”

Both Maria and Manolo straightened, confused and a little creeped out.

“Who knew finding you would be this easy?” The voice was feminine, but it was scratchy, as if the owner did nothing but breathe smoke. There was no ounce of amiability in it.

“Excuse me?” Manolo was immediately on edge, Maria right beside him. She could swear up and down she’d never heard this voice before, but there was something about it, some odd quality in the tone or intonation…

“I mean, sure, this town is pathetically small by _human_ standards, but still,” The voice was drawing closer, although neither Maria nor Manolo could make out who it was.

Wait a second.

‘ _Human_ standards’?

Before either ‘human’ could react, the figure launched itself at them. Maria managed to register massively curly hair, a cloak as black as tar, and eyes an unnatural shade of green before she was shoved away. It seized Manolo by the shirt collar, and pivoted on its heel to slam him into the wall; the man cried out at the impact. His guitar fell to the ground with a hollow thunk.

It didn’t take long for Maria to recover, but by the time she did it didn’t matter. She was frozen to the spot, unable to move. The figure--an impossibly tall woman--was grinning, with sharp black teeth.

“I figured you’d be hiding away after what you’ve done. Glad to know even in this day and age human arrogance never fails.” She growled.

She had a dagger pressed across Manolo’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof...here it is, chapter 7. There are parts I'm proud of, parts I'm not so proud of, but I think at this point I just have to move on. Hopefully I won't get as stumped with other chapters as I did with this one. Phew.  
> And hey, whaddya know, another cliffhanger ;)


	9. Unwelcome Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all that had happened this is who showed up?

Maria would intervene, but if she wasn't careful she could end up getting Manolo's throat sliced open on accident. She didn't dare let herself picture that. Manolo struggled as much as he could without hurting himself on the woman's knife. Maria could already see blood, it was already breaking skin. Oh _God_.

"Who are you? Let me go!" Manolo cried. His feet were barely touching the ground, the woman was holding him up against the wall with such a strong grip.

"You should have known your thievery would have brought hell down on you! And we thought your heart was _pure_." The woman sneered. The sneer became a snarl. "Tell me where they are!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Manolo yelled desperately.

"Let him go!" Maria cried, taking a step forward. She went unheard, much to her frustration.

"Please don't kill me! Please!" Manolo begged.

"Oh don't worry, I won't kill you until I have the information I need. But you're not making things better for yourself by stalling it." The knife was pulled away from Manolo's throat, and slashed across the man's chest. Maria screamed as her husband did in pain.

" _NO_! Let him go!" She shrieked. She couldn't let this (was it really who she thought it was? After all that had happened _this_ is who showed up?), this _monster_ hurt Manolo. She ran forward, but before she could get within reach (to do what, she didn't know, but goddammit _something_ ), the woman fixed her unnaturally green eyes on Maria. Somehow it made every fiber of her being turn to ice. The rage and hatred and... desperation, in those eyes, it was practically hypnotic how it made her still, unable to move.

"You don't have any say in this, girl. For all I know you're just as guilty as he is. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if you were the mastermind behind all of this." The woman growled. "So, if anything, I'm calling the shots here, _Maria_." She snapped her fingers. If the woman's eyes had been scary, the hiss and rattling that began to fill the air was downright terrifying. Maria stopped breathing. There was no doubt as to who was attacking them now.

Xibalba.

"No! _No!_ " Manolo screamed, struggling even harder. Maria forced herself to keep her eyes up and open, even though her heart was pounding against her ribcage and it felt like her throat was closing up so she couldn't breathe. She didn't dare move a muscle now. The nails of her hands, clenched into her fists, dug into her skin painfully. Her eyes burned with tears but she fought the panic rising in her. Xibalba was grinning, teeth black and sharp, even in human disguise.

"That's more like it." The god turned back Manolo, who was quickly becoming hysterical.

"No! Déjala ir! Let her go!"

Maria felt the slide of scales against her ankles and she couldn't fight the whimper that passed her lips. Her hands trembled and her palms stung from her nails as the memories came back, all those memories from that awful morning, that terrible morning.

_"Snake! Look out!"_

_"No! Maria!"_

_Screaming._

_Falling. Can't see. Can't breathe. Manolo, Manolo…_

The same memories that were driving Manolo crazy with panic.

" _Maria!_ No! Déjala ir! Take me, take me! _Please!_ " Manolo scrabbled and kicked, eyes focused on the snake wrapping itself around Maria's ankles.

"Quit snivelling, boy!" Xibalba snapped, shaking him a little. "Tell me where the medals are and maybe I'll let her go!"

Wait. _Medals?_

"I don't know! I _swear_ I don't know! Please, llévame por el amor de dios! Maria! _Maria!_ Don't hurt her!" Manolo sobbed.

"I won't hurt her if you stop lying!" Xibalba was growing impatient with Manolo's panic. "Tell me where you hid the medals!"

"What medals?" Maria finally called out. Her whole mouth felt dry. Xibalba turned on her.

"Don't play dumb! I know you took them!"

"No! No we didn't! I know what you're talking about and we didn't do it!" Gods, that hadn't been delirium. All those weeks ago on his deathbed, Joaquin had been telling the truth.

"You do?" Manolo was gasping for breath.

"Yes, and I'll tell you all I know, but you _let him go first_." Maria may have been shaking, may have been on the been on the verge of collapse just because of the fact that she felt like she couldn't _breathe_ , but her voice was strong.

Xibalba's eyes narrowed.

"You're in no place to dictate terms."

"Depends. How badly do you want this information?" Maria shot back. "Because I guarantee if you hurt him again you will _never_ get it."

Xibalba tried to stare her down. Maria could feel the power, could feel that strange something sifting through her head, testing her resolve. Maria didn't dare back down. _After all_ , she thought, _no retreat,_ no _surrender._

The presence in her mind withdrew, and Manolo dropped to the ground spluttering. The gash across his chest was large and bleeding, but it didn't seem too deep. The cut on his neck was a little more concerning; Maria hoped it wasn't as bad as it looked.

"Alright," the god growled. "Start talking, or he starts biting."

"We didn't steal anything. Almost a month ago Joaquin came back from a mission only an inch from death and seriously ill--he was delirious. We managed to figure out that he had tried to take on a bandit camp some time north of here--and barely escaped. I thought it was a fever dream, that he was hallucinating, but he told me that they had medals, and that he couldn't stop them. That's all I know."

Xibalba wasn't convinced.

"Nice story. Not buying it."

The rattling picked up.

"It's true! Please, just tell us what you're accusing us of!" Maria pleaded, trying hard not to let her voice waver.

"Well, since you keep insisting on playing dumb," the god huffed, "medals in the Gods' Realms are going missing. One. By. One."

"W-what, like the--like the M-medal of Ever--everlasting L-life?" Manolo coughed. He was still shaking badly, and his eyes were still pinned on the snake. He was still panicking.

"Yes, that one, and all the others."

"Others?" Maria echoed. Were there actually other medals? Medals for what? Desperation to get herself and her husband out of harm's way overruled her curiosity.

"Yes! Others! Someone's stealing them! _You_ are stealing them!" The god jabbed a finger at her.

"No we aren't!" Maria argued. "What makes you think we did?"

The god smirked.

"This, is the best part. The part where you slipped up."

"Enlighten me." She gritted.

The god seemed to sift through some pocket in his (her? The body was visibly female, but the god was, well, a god-- _now was not the time to ponder the genders of deities. Focus._ ) cloak and removed something small and gold.

"One of these could be found at every crime scene."

It was a cluster of three gold medallions. Commonly found on a traje de luces.

"I only know one bullfighter who knows too much about magical objects and the Gods' Realms. Not too hard to connect the dots."

"W-wait!" Manolo cried weakly. He reached up with one hand to Xibalba, the other still pressed across the wound in his chest to staunch the bleeding and to hold his binding--Xibalba had cut through it. "Let me--let me see that, por f-favor."

The god scowled down at the man, but--reluctantly--dropped it into his hand. The medallion had barely rested in Manolo's hand for more than a second before he spoke.

"It's not m-mine."

"Right." Xibalba snorted.

"It's n-not. This is t-too--too heavy and too big. No bullfighter would--would wear this, it w-would fall off too easily. And the designs on it," Manolo scrutinized the medallion for a moment, the piece hard to focus on because he couldn't stop shaking, "m-mine have skulls in them. These...these have--I think these are--these are stars."

He unpinned a medallion from his own suit and held both up to Xibalba.

"S-see for--for yourself."

The god snatched them out of his hand to compare the two. When Xibalba's eyes widened, they knew the god had found the differences as well.

"See? It's n-not mine. It wasn't--wasn't me. Please, please let her go." Manolo begged, voice cracking. Xibalba still didn't look fully convinced.

"Why would we leave a medallion at every place something was stolen from? It couldn't have been on accident that many times. Leaving a signature like that would practically invite us to be caught. Someone's trying to frame us, Xibalba." Maria added.

"Don't say my name!" The god jumped, suddenly looking around as if the world would bear down on him at any second. "Names have power!"

Maria's eyes narrowed. Names do have power, but Xibalba should have no fear of his name being spoken in the Land of the Living unless…

"Someone's looking for you." She said. Suddenly the god's unorthodox disguise made more sense. It all made sense. "That's it, isn't it?"

"None of your business!" Xibalba snapped.

"Someone is! All of these medals are going missing, and who do we find at our home but the _trickster_ god, trying to blame us. _You're_ the one who did it! You're just trying to save your own skin!" Maria cried.

" _Enough!_ " Xibalba roared, stomping his foot. Suddenly the snake's grip on her tightened, and she felt twin sets of teeth grace along her ankles. Against her will a fearful cry escaped her; she couldn't keep her eyes from squeezing shut. Manolo screamed.

" _NO!_ " He scrambled to his feet to rush to her, but didn't get far. Xibalba swatted him away like he was nothing more than a fly, and the guitarist slammed into the wall and dropped to the ground like a stone, moaning. The sound made Maria open her eyes again.

"Shut up!" Xibalba spat at the fallen man, before turning back to Maria. The knife the god was wielding shone in the lamplight, primitive, jagged, and obsidian. As he approached her he twirled it threateningly.

"Things may not be... _copacetic_ for me, right now," The god's voice was dangerously cool. "But that does not give you the right to talk to me that way, _human_."

At those words Maria's rage overtook her fear. It burned through her along with fresh adrenaline and suddenly she didn't give a damn that Xibalba could kill her with a snap of his fingers. She glared up at the god.

"You come to my home," She snarled. "You hurt me and my husband unprovoked you have _stooped low enough_ to give me the right. And so help me, if you do not let me go and _explain_ what's going on, I will scream your name and bring _whatever_ is chasing you down on us."

"I could kill you before you could." Xibalba leveled the blade to her eyes, but she could see it in the god's own eyes, the wavering that meant she was winning.

"Then I will scream your name throughout the Land of the Remembered until _everyone_ knows where you are and what you did."

The god raised his blade, seeming to call her bluff. She didn't flinch, only opening her mouth to start screaming. God and human glared at each other for what seemed like dragging minutes. Finally, it was the god who relented. The blade was secreted away.

"Fine." Xibalba spat. "But take note: your insolence will not be forgotten, _girl_."

" _Noted_." Maria replied. "Let me go. Explain."

With a snap of the god's fingers the snake untwisted itself from her ankles and hissed away. It slithered underneath Xibalba's cloak, and the night was quiet once more. Maria would run to Manolo, still fighting for consciousness on the ground, but adrenaline and rage only did so much for her: she felt she would collapse if she tried to move.

"Not too long ago, magical items--medals, the colloquial term we use--started going missing from their various guardians. Medals like the Medal of Everlasting Life, the Medal of Purity, the Memory Stone, el Amuleto de Protección, el Runa de Ichor--you get the picture. Of course everyone starts panicking and pointing fingers."

"And everyone points to you." Maria guessed.

"Yes." Xibalba nodded grudgingly. The god looked away from Maria, glaring at a memory. His voice was quiet when he spoke again. "It's hard to cry wolf when everyone's used to you _being_ the wolf."

"So you're just trying to clear your name?"

"What? Surprised I'm trying to do the right thing?" Xibalba snapped defensively. Maria gave a half-shrug.

"A little. But why all the secrecy? Why this weird disguise? Why not bring the evidence you've found to the others?" She asked.

"They were going to bring me before the Council. Punish me even though I didn't do it. You think I didn't bring them what I'd found? They didn't believe me. So I ran. Best way to clear my name was to find the real culprit."

"...What about La Muerte? Did she believe you?" Maria was interested in whatever this "Council" was (presumably a group of other gods), but she decided to take on one issue at a time.

At her words, the god sighed, as if just hearing his wife's name was a heavy weight on his shoulders.

"Yes...yes, of course she did. But the Council hasn't trusted her since... The Council won't take her testimony with a grain of salt, if not for that then just for the fact that she--she loves me. For all they know or care she's lying to protect me."

Maria didn't miss the ache in the god's voice.

"She begged me not to run." Xibalba continued. "If I ran, it would just prove my guilt. But I couldn't let myself be punished for something I didn't do. Not again, and she knows that better than anyone. So I have to find the real thief before they find me."

"That's why you're in disguise." Maria murmured. Then, a little louder: "no offense meant, but you stick out, though. Like a sore thumb."

"Hiding in plain sight, so to speak." Xibalba answered easily. "My usual human disguises are well known, and the amount of energy it would take to hide myself completely would be an alarm bell to anyone looking." He gestured to his feminine, nigh on feral face. "So voila. Bit of a rush job, not much of a body underneath the cloak, I was in a hurry. Still am, so let's get down to business--the medals."

No chance to probe about this "Council", unfortunately.

"I already told you. Joaquin tried to take on a bandit encampment at least a few days north of here, and they had medals, and he couldn't stop them. That's all I know. We don't know how much he remembers." Maria said.

The god actually considered the information, now. It had been seven years since Maria had last seen the deity--and certainly not in this form--and a part of her wondered if time had skewered her image of Xibalba. Seven years ago he was calm, collected, and disgustingly suave and sly. Maria had had the urge to punch him for all he did to them, and was surprised to find out she wasn't the only one: she laughed when Manolo told her how his mother had slapped the god, three times. But this didn't even appear to be the same god. This Xibalba was paranoid, on edge, violent, very, very scared and very, very desperate. The only thing that she could recognize was his haughtiness. It tipped her off that something was very, very wrong.

"Is Joaquin alive?" Xibalba asked suddenly.

"Sí, he's recovering very well. He woke up this morning." Maria answered warily.

"Good." Xibalba glanced down at Manolo, then back to Maria, shrugging. "Desperate times." The god turned and started to walk back down the alley, and Maria figured that was the closest to an apology they were ever going to get. But if something was chasing Xibalba, there might be something worse than a slashed chest and a panic attack in store for them.

"Wait!" She called out. Xibalba paused and looked over his shoulder. In the darkness of the alley, Maria could see the green eyes glowing.

"If someone's following you, what's the chance they'll attack my family?"

"Well, Joaquin should be completely safe. The rest of you might want to lay low for a while." Was the grim reply.

"Why is Joaquin safe?" Maria asked.

The one eyebrow she could see raised.

"Oh, so he didn't tell you? He's alive, ask him yourself." Xibalba said, words terse. "I have a name to clear."

With that, the god vanished into the shadows completely. As soon as he was gone it felt like a glass dome Maria had never noticed was placed over them was removed, and suddenly she could hear the noises of the night she never noticed were missing: the chirping of crickets, the soft breeze, the faint cantina music. _That's why no one heard us screaming to begin with_ , she thought, taking a deep breath. The first step she took was unsteady; she thought she would indeed collapse. She was not going to be able to forget the feel of scales against her skin. But Manolo started to regain more consciousness, and managed to roll over onto his back. He needed help.

“Manolo!” She ran to him, falling to her knees a little too hard. Finally close enough to gauge the extent of his injuries, she breathed a sigh of relief. While still bleeding, the cut in Manolo’s neck was higher than she thought it was, and didn’t seem to have hurt any important vein.

“M-maria…” He blinked furiously, trying to focus on her. “Maria!”

He shoved himself upright and reached for her. “Maria, Maria!” One hand latched onto her shoulder, the other cupping her face. He was having trouble focusing--he was still heavily disoriented from Xibalba’s attack, christ--and his breathing was very labored.  
“Sí, I’m here, I’m here.” Maria reassured him. She glanced down to the slash in his chest. It seemed to stretch from the bottom of his right shoulder to the top of his left collarbone, but she couldn’t be sure, there was too much blood. She had to get him home.

“But--but--” Manolo was still on the border of hysteria, still crying. “Snake, there was a--Xibalba--the snake!--” He seemed be examining her for injuries, but he was shaking.

“Manolo, it’s okay. I’m alright, he didn’t hurt me.”

“But--he--the snake! Oh _god_ , the snake!”

“Manolo, everything is okay. The snake is gone, Xibalba’s gone, and I am okay.” Maria said slowly. She gently took the hand cupping her cheek and moved it down, so it rested above her heart (which, she wouldn’t lie, was still beating incredibly hard).

“Do you feel that? What do you feel?” She asked. He swallowed, and his brow furrowed.

“Heartbeat.” He was barely audible. His gaze was fixed on the hand over her heart.

“Sí, my heartbeat. I’m alive, Manny, I’m fine. Do you feel this?” She asked as she breathed deeply. “That’s my breathing, right?”

Manolo nodded jerkily.

“Alright, just breathe in time with me, okay? Can you do that for me, Manolo?” She asked. Again Manolo nodded. It took almost a minute, but eventually he was breathing in time with her, and he wasn’t crying anymore. He was still shaking, but not as badly.

“Is that better?”

Manolo nodded...then slowly shook his head.

“Chest hurts.” He murmured.

“Yeah, well, Xi--” She remembered the god’s berating statement of how names had power, the implication that they could quickly summon whoever was chasing him, “--he didn’t hurt me, but he hurt you.” Maria told him. He looked up at her finally.

“That’s not important. You’re important.”

“You know I’m going to insist the exact opposite, so don’t even try.” Maria warned him. She ran her thumb over his knuckles. “Can you walk?”

“Sí.” Another nod.

“Alright, the house is just over there. We need to get you home and cleaned up.” Maria slowly helped her husband to his feet. His legs nearly buckled beneath him, but with Maria's support he stayed standing. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“G-guitar…” He looked over his shoulder at the instrument.

“Don’t, I got it.” She reached down and snatched it up before he could unsteady himself. She held onto it tightly with one hand, the other wrapping around Manolo’s waist to support him. The going was very slow--Manolo was still disoriented, exhausted from his panic attack, and limping awfully--his ankles always hurt whenever he revisited that terrible morning, whether by nightmare or by actual snake encounter.

“Why did...why did n-no one hear us?” His voice was very quiet.

“I think it was something that cabrón did to us, or to the environment or something. I felt it, when he left. We were too distracted to notice, but everything around us had gone quiet. When he left, it all came back: crickets, wind, the town…” Maria explained.

“How did you get him to leave? I remember--I--” He took a shuddering breath.

“It’s okay, don’t think about it. I got him to explain what was going on.”

“Medals were g-going missing…”

“The other gods are blaming him for it, so he’s trying to clear his name before they capture and punish him for something he didn’t do. Don’t say his name, Manolo. Someone’s tracking him, and I think saying his name will only bring them to us. And the last thing we need is another _god_.” She spat the last word like an insult. After all, on the Day of the Dead seven years ago she made all three gods promise not to meddle with their lives again (the Candlemaker insisted he never really interacted with the Land of the Living, or beings of any realm for that matter, but Maria had only met the wax god a few hours before, and hadn’t been too inclined to trust him yet). Maria wasn’t sure how surprised she was that the promise was broken.

“But...before that. You said--you said you knew what he was talking about. You knew about the m-medals. How did you know about the medals?” Manolo asked. Maria looked away guiltily. Even if she had thought it was Joaquin’s delusion and nothing more, she still should have told Manolo.

“The night Joaquin came home, when he was really delirious, at one point he mentioned that the bandits he fought had medals, and that he couldn’t fight them.” She said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She didn’t miss the hurt in that question.

“Because he never mentioned it again, Manolo. He didn’t even say anything about it when he woke up this morning. He only said it once, and I thought it was just delirium. I didn’t think it was anything more than that until...until tonight. I had no idea this would happen. I’m sorry.”

Manolo sighed, but other than that he didn’t respond. Maria hoped he understood that it wasn’t because she didn’t trust him, but because at the time she hadn’t thought it was important. When she looked up at him, he was staring down at his feet. Another moment and she realized no, not his feet, his chest. He had one arm over her shoulder, but the other across his chest, trying to hold the remains of his binder together.

“We’re almost home, querido.” She murmured. As soon as they were past the gate Chuy came running out the door and to the couple. He ran around their feet and bleated frantically, sniffing at Manolo’s feet especially--he smelled the blood.

“Cálmate, Chuy. He’s hurt, but not too badly.” At that, the old pig quieted, but he followed along Manolo’s other side, almost like another source of support. Manolo didn’t comment; he didn’t seem to have noticed at all.

In fact, he didn’t utter another word until Maria had ushered him into a chair in the kitchen and had lit the chandelier above the table.

"Blood..." He murmured, staring at his hands.

"I'll clean it all off, don't worry, Manolo." Maria reassured him, hurriedly finding the small first-aid kit in the cupboard. After that she grabbed cloths from the linen closet in the hallway. When she returned Manolo was leaning a little forward in the chair, moaning. His eyes were half-lidded.

"Manolo, don’t fall asleep yet." She shook him gently. "I need to make sure you’re not hurt too badly. Stay awake please, for me."

"M'sorry." He blinked rapidly and straightened, leaning back in the chair.

"Look up, please. I need to clean your neck." Maria ordered kindly, wetting one of the cloths in the sink. Manolo obeyed, but he grimaced.

“The light…” The small chandelier that illuminated the kitchen was shining right into his eyes. She sat down in the chair next to him.

"Here, I'll clean your hands first then." When she held out her hand, he slowly nested his own in it, almost dwarfing it. Using the damp cloth she scrubbed away any blood she could see. She repeated the process with his other hand. She worked quickly: Manolo had more pressing things to take care of than bloodstained hands, but she knew they bothered him.

“Okay now I need you to look up. Close your eyes if it's too bright.” Maria told him, setting his hand down. She began to wipe gently at the cut on his neck. He hissed at the contact.

“You said don’t sleep…” He muttered. “But I’m so tired…”

“You can sleep when I’m done, I promise, amor."

When Maria finished cleaning away most of the blood, she switched to a clean cloth and dabbed it with antiseptic.

"This is going to sting." She warned. Manolo peered down at her from under half-closed eye-lids.

"Like it isn't alread--ah! Shit." He cut off with gritted teeth. He twitched under her touch but other than that kept himself fairly still. But Maria could see his fingers dig into his thigh, knuckles white.

"At least it's not big enough to need stitches." She murmured, reaching for the bandages. Gently she wrapped the wound, around his throat, and held it in place with a dab of adhesive. “Does this hurt your breathing?”

“N-no more than it already did.” Manolo answered.

“Alright," Maria shifted back, pausing. Manolo hadn't stopped clutching his binder together in one hand. Gently she reached for it, laying her hand over his but not going further.

"I need to clean that gash. Can you take off your shirt please?”

“Sí.” Manolo replied immediately, although it was another moment or two before he actually moved. His hand unclenched from the blood-soaked fabric like an outside force was prying it off with a crowbar. He had been using that iron grip to keep his hands from shaking, Maria could see that now. Slowly it dropped to his other thigh, digging in just as much as the other hand to keep them still. After a deep breath, he let go, and began the process of shrugging off his jacket and vest and shirt and binder. It was another slow going: stretching out to undress stretched the wound, which only made it hurt more.

Maria would like nothing more than to help him, but contact that wasn’t initiated by him when he was in a state like this tended to stress him out more--and that was evidenced by the shaking that hadn’t gone away. So instead she went to the sink and squeezed all the blood she could out of the cloth and re-dampened it. By the time that was done, Manolo was once more slumping forward in the chair, shirtless and hissing with pain. She waited until he could see her before she reached out to push him gently back. He obeyed wordlessly, hands back on his thighs in their iron grip. He tilted his head back and kept his eyes shut as she cleaned this wound.

This one was definitely worse than the one on his neck. It wasn’t too deep, and certainly not the worst Manolo had ever had, but it was wide enough to probably require stitches. Thankfully the cut was clean, and not bleeding so badly anymore--stitches could wait until morning. What really disturbed Maria though, was the black tinge around the edges of the wound. It wasn’t like a burn, nor was it like the black of infected blood or poison. It stained his skin, almost imperceptibly, like ink. Xibalba’s knife had appeared to be obsidian, but it was more like as not to have some kind of magical power. Maria prayed it wasn’t anything too damaging. Before she could check with Manolo to make sure he was feeling alright, he spoke.

“M’not mad.”

“What?”

Her husband slowly opened his eyes to look down at her without tilting his head forward.

“I am...I am not mad,” He said, slowly so he could be understandable. “that you didn’t tell me about the medals.”

Maria pursed her lips together and continued to clean his wound, but like lightning he grabbed her wrist. He looked straight at her now.

"Don't be guilty." He said firmly. "You didn't--you didn't know this would happen."

"I should have told you anyway. I've told you everything since." She fought to keep her anger at herself out of her voice.

"You said it was the night he came home. We were both--both stressed out of our minds that night. W-we didn't know _any_ of this--would happen. So please," his voice became more pleading. "Don't be guilty."

With that he let her go and settled back again. Maria didn't respond but...Manolo was right. There was no use pointing fingers or placing blame now. That got nothing done.

She switched to the antiseptic cloth.

"This is going to hurt more." She warned. She could feel Manolo tense under her hands. As soon as the cloth hit skin he cried out through clenched teeth and jerked. Maria grimaced, and tried to be as gentle as possible, but Manolo still writhed.

"Stop, stop!" He cried finally. "It hurts too much!"

"I have to disinfect it, Manny!" Maria said, although she backed away.

"N-no, please," Manolo breathed heavily, "something's not right. Le duele demasiado. M-más de lo que debería."

Maria frowned and set the cloth down.

“It didn’t hurt as much when I cleaned it with water,” She said, thinking aloud. Slowly she leaned forward to scrutinize the wound. The black outline was still there. She raised a finger to it.

“Don’t poke it.” Manolo warned.

“I won’t.” True to her word, her finger barely graced along the black line. Under the wet of blood, it was warm, very warm. The line was warmer than the rest of his skin. “Does this hurt?”  
“No, not really, just don’t press too hard. Why?”

“It’s not a burn, but there’s a black line around this, Manolo.” She explained. “Only on this--it’s not around the cut on your neck. It’s warmer than everything else but it doesn’t... _feel_ different. It’s like ink.”

“What?” Manolo looked down, trying to see what she was seeing. “W-what did he do to me?”

“Do you feel any different?” Maria asked.

“Other than tired, scared, worried, and in pain?” Manolo rattled off. “No.”

Maria sighed.

“There’s no way of knowing if it has any effect then. But I swear, if it does, next time I see that culo voy a hacerle comer su propia polla.” She finished with a growl. Manolo huffed a weak laugh.

“Didn’t--didn’t he already threaten you for talking back to him?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What, you think that’d scare me?”

“True...true.” Manolo nodded. “Woah--hey!”

She had been reaching for the antiseptic cloth again.

“I wanted to try something. And it does still needs to be disinfected.” She pointed out. Manolo shook his head.

“Please,” He said, “Let’s not experiment tonight. It--does it need stitches?”

“Sí, but not right away.”

“Okay. Just--let’s just bandage it, and I can go see Dr. Chavez tomorrow morning.” Manolo gently guided her hand away from the cloth.

“Alright,” Maria nodded, “I’ll bandage, and then we can _both_ see Dr. Chavez tomorrow.”

“But the children--”

“I’ll drop them off at the orphanage tomorrow morning. The Sisters will understand. We need to talk to Joaquin.”

“About what he remembers?” Manolo asked, concern in his tone.

“No, not necessarily. I don’t want to make him relive what he went through so soon. But when I asked if we would be safe from anyone following him, Xi--” she cut herself off. It was harder not to say his name than she realized. “The god said we should lay low, but that Joaquin would be fine. When I asked why, he said Joaquin could tell us. We need to know why.”

“...Why he’s different.” Manolo nodded thoughtfully.

Bandaging his chest was a little complicated because she had to wrap around his shoulders to cover the whole gash. When she stood up to wrap around his back, he gasped.

“You’re bleeding! You’re hurt!”

“What?” She followed his gaze down to two matching stains on her skirt. It was only now she started to feel the burning pain.

“Oh. I must’ve scraped my knees when I ran to you. It’s alright, I’ll clean them up in a moment.” Maria reassured him. It didn’t help much--Manolo’s hands started to shake again. He hummed a little, still bothered by the fact that she was hurt at all. _Always thinking of others first._ Maria thought. _We always think of others first._

She finished wrapping the gash and moved on to her own injuries--which were far more minimal in comparison. She put one foot on the chair and hiked her skirt up over her knee. It was a little nasty: bad enough that blood was beginning to drip down her leg. She quickly cleaned it up and disinfected it, hissing quietly at the burn. She bandaged it lightly, then did the same to her other leg. She jumped a little when she felt Manolo’s hand rest on her hip. It was a gentle, almost tentative touch.

“Alive,” he whispered, to himself. When she finished securing the bandage on her other leg, she rested her hand over his. She straightened off of the chair and turned to face him. When he looked up at her, his eyes were hazy with exhaustion, but still haunted by panic. Slowly she reached out to stroke his face. This prompted him forward, other hand resting on her opposite hip and pulling her in to hug her waist. Her hands fell to his hair, stroking through the black locks.

“Yes, Manny. Estoy vivo. Estás vivo. We’re all alive, and I promise we’re going to stay that way for a long time yet.” She murmured. All of the events of the day were weighing down on her now, like lead in her bones. She knew it was even worse for Manolo. She tugged lightly on his shoulders.

“Vamos, amor. Bed.”

Manolo hummed again, and Maria bit her lip to keep from giggling at the ticklish sensation. He nuzzled into her stomach before leaning back. Wordlessly he began to redress, starting with his binder, but Maria swatted his hands away.

“No. No binding while in bed, and definitely not when injured, you know the rules.” She said, not unkindly. His grip on the thing, torn and bloodstained, tightened for a moment, then he let it drop into his lap. Instead he shrugged his shirt over his shoulders, his vest and jacket piled with the binder in his arms. All of them were damaged by Xibalba's knife--as an errant thought Maria hoped she'd be able to repair them. She waved the thought away to focus on Manolo. He tried to stand on his own, but too quickly; again he ended up leaning on Maria for support.

“Can you make it up the stairs or do you think you’ll be better on the couch?” She asked.

“Stairs.”

Even though he chose stairs, Maria noted that he gripped the banister with white knuckles, and she couldn’t help but count his stumbles: seven.

Manolo practically fell into bed, nigh on dead to the world in an instant. Maria smiled, a part of her still swelling with relief that nothing worse had happened. She took off his shoes and tossed them off to the side. Husband (relatively) healed and safe in bed, Maria turned to leave. There was still the first aid kit to clean up, and those bloodstained cloths--

“Stay.”

When Maria turned back to Manolo, he was facing her, pleading with eyes and voice.

“Please.”

Maria couldn't say no to him like that. Cleaning up the kitchen could wait. She clambered into bed next to Manolo, careful not to bounce the bed too much. As soon as she was settled he shifted until he was right next to her, and buried his face in her stomach again, arms wrapping around her waist. Again she began to stroke his hair. His thumbs moved in soothing circles at the base of her spine.

Lying in bed, she thought it’d be easy to finally let the exhaustion pull her under. But instead her fears ran at the forefront of her mind. They had heard terrible news tonight, so juxtaposed against the good news of this morning. There was danger in store, she knew it, they both knew it, but...as frustrating as it was, there was nothing they could do right now.

_In the morning._ She told herself. _In the morning you can go see Joaquin. You can start worrying in the morning._

She fell asleep to the rhythm of Manolo’s fingers on her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!


	10. Gathering Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...Do you know if it'll do anything, to Manny?"

" _What!?_ \-- _ow_..."

“ _Joaquin_ , stop moving so quickly!” Dr. Chavez cried over his shoulder, at the end of his rope. “You only woke up yesterday, you are nowhere near healed yet!”

Maria smiled sympathetically. Now that Joaquin was awake, even though he still got tired easily, every second he was awake he was far more active than he should be. And he had barely been awake for twenty-four hours. Joaquin had never seemed to master the natural patience for recovery (likely because of the ten-year period of his life where he didn’t _have_ to recover from anything at all), and as such he always managed to push Dr. Chavez’s (and his spouses’) patience to its limits.

But there wasn’t really any avoiding it. This _had_ to be discussed. Maria had woken up early and cleaned up the kitchen, then had fed the children and dropped them off at the orphanage as soon as she could. Then she woke Manolo up and they slowly made their way over to the doctor’s. Joaquin had already been awake when they got there, so Maria had settled right into telling him what happened the previous night while Dr. Chavez took a look at the gash in Manolo’s chest. Joaquin kept glancing furtively in Manolo’s direction from his reclined position on the bed, unhappy that he was unable to fuss over his husband like he always did when he (or Maria) was hurt. He was also _furious_ that they had been attacked--he had bolted up in his seat as soon as the words left Maria’s mouth.

“What do you mean Xi--”

“Remember what I said!” Maria warned. It had been the first thing she told him before beginning to explain the events of last night: don’t say his name. Joaquin ground his teeth together, and his left hand clenched and unclenched in his lap.

“ _Why_ did he attack you? Why was he even here!?” He growled.

“He’s being accused of something he didn’t do, and now he’s trying to clear his name before whoever is after him catches him. His evidence led him to us--someone tried to frame us.” Maria explained.

“Frame us for what?”

“...Stealing medals.” Maria said finally. She watched for Joaquin’s reaction like a hawk.

“...Medals like the Medal of Everlasting Life?” Joaquin asked slowly, warily. The bandages around his left eye had been removed, and now one hazel-green eye and one golden orb were fixed on Maria, the latter having two scars now instead of one. Maria nodded. Joaquin’s hand clenched and this time, it didn’t unclench.

“Why would he think we stole them?”

“Because at every place a medal was stolen he found a medallion from a traje de luces. But we showed him it wasn’t Manny’s.”

“Too big, too heavy. Someone was trying to throw him in the wrong direction.” Manolo piped up from his seat. He finished unbuttoning his shirt and shrugged it off. Immediately Dr. Chavez tutted, just like Maria warned Manolo he would.

“Manolo, you know this is not healthy for you.” He gestured to the man’s chest, which was bound with bandages, not a binder.

“I couldn’t put a binder on, it hurt too much. I had to hold my chest down with something if we were going to go out in public.” Manolo defended himself.

“No wonder you were breathing so heavily when you walked in,” Dr. Chavez sighed. “Just let me have a look at your injury, Manolo.”

As Manolo began to unwrap the bandages around the gash in his chest, Joaquin turned back to Maria.

“What, so after that he just left?” Joaquin asked. He looked almost hopeful, like he wanted that to be the end of it.

“No, I...I told him about the bandit camp.”

Joaquin immediately froze. His eyes took on that far off look that he had yesterday morning, the haunted look that meant he was remembering what happened to him. He cursed under his breath.

“I prayed that was a dream…” He murmured. “I prayed that I was too far gone to think clearly, that it was just in my head.”

“But they did have medals.” Maria reached out and took his left hand, trying to stop its shaking. Joaquin nodded.

“Sí,” He said quietly, “One of them--one of them _had_ the Medal of Everlasting Life, Maria,” His eyes focused back on her, and he started to tremble, “I--I--it wasn’t the only one, and--and, what they could do to me, with them--”

“Don’t think about it, Joaquin.” Maria squeezed his hand. “You’re home now and you’re safe.”

Joaquin nodded again, but a little weaker.

“Did...did I tell you? Is that how you knew?” He asked, leaning forward a little.

“Yes. The night you came home. I thought it was just delirium until we were attacked last night.” Maria said. Joaquin relaxed back against the pillows propping him up.

The soldier hummed thoughtfully. “Xib--he--he was running, trying to clear his name...my dream...” His eye widened, “That wasn’t a dream.”

“What? What dream?” Manolo asked, pausing in his unwrapping.

“I--I don’t know when, exactly, but...one time, when I was still sick or something, I...I had this dream.” Joaquin explained. “I was by the big tree just out of town, but...but the town wasn’t there. Instead everything was black, except, I saw lights in the distance. And music, lots of music. I started to walk towards it, but then I heard voices, from the other side of the tree. When I snuck around, I saw La Muerte and...you know. They were arguing. La Muerte looked really upset, like, like she was pleading with him. I couldn’t really hear what they were saying, it was getting harder to hear anything. But then, he mentioned medals, and--suddenly I _had_ to tell them, because I _knew_ what they were talking about, I could help. I tried to run for them, but I was suddenly being pulled away. I tried to scream for him, but then everything went back to black…”

Both Maria and Manolo visibly paled. That had been the night Joaquin’s heart had stopped the third time, when he had been brought back screaming. He had been _in_ the Land of the Remembered. Suddenly it was Maria who was shaking.

“Everything went back to black,” Manolo repeated quietly, “We managed to get your heart beating again.”

“W-what?” It was Joaquin’s turn to go pale. “You’re not serious--you mean--”

“I would know, Joaquin.” Manolo said. “And what you described…” He trailed off with a nod.

“Gods.” Joaquin whispered, horrorstruck.

“What matters is that you are here now,” Dr. Chavez said. The doctor had a very concerned look on his face. “You are alive and safe, Joaquin. Although it seems you’ve awoken to quite a bit of trouble.”

“It seems like I’ve brought this trouble down on us.” The soldier sighed, looking down at his hands. Maria shook her head.

“No, no you didn’t.” She turned his face to look at her. “Even if you hadn’t gone after that camp, that god still would have shown up on our doorstep, and worse: it would have been harder to convince him that we were innocent. He still prefers you over us, and he trusted me when I said it came from you.”

Before Joaquin could respond:

“Ah, Manolo,” the doctor began slowly, “This isn’t some sort of joke, is it? Because if it is, it’s...quite terrible.”

“What?” Manolo looked down and gasped, at the same time Maria’s jaw dropped. “What!”

The gash was _healed_. Some of the blood from when it was still bleeding was there, but the gash was nothing but a black line.

“How…” Maria breathed. With blood showing through the bandages that morning, and Manolo still in pain, they had both assumed the gash was still bleeding.

“Ow!” Manolo recoiled when Dr. Chavez touched the wound. “Lo siento...it still hurts a lot.”

“The fault is mine, Manolo,” The doctor replied grimly. “I shouldn’t have touched it. It hurts like it's still open, doesn't it?"

“Sí,” Manolo nodded, “But--what about the cut on my neck?”

He quickly unwrapped the bandages around his neck. Unfortunately, that wound was still open, and the doctor told him so.

“So it’s just this…” The guitarist murmured, staring back down at his chest. Joaquin sat up straight, eyes wide and full of concern.

"Manny, let me see it, please."

Manolo faced Joaquin, and the soldier narrowed his eyes at the wound--or scar, now.

"He used his sigil blade. Why the hell would he use his sigil blade for any--" Joaquin's eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut.

“Joaquin,” Maria said slowly, dangerously. Her eyes narrowed at the soldier, and she knew Manolo was fixing their husband with his own glare. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

Joaquin waffled under both of his spouses' gazes, and finally his head dropped with a defeated sigh.

“I...I didn’t tell either of you because I knew the last thing you’d want to hear is... _him_...coming to visit, but...about six months after we rescued Luciana, when I was off on another mission, he came to me. He knew my eye was doing me more harm than good, and...he offered to help fix that.”

“You _trusted_ him?” The look on Manolo’s face was clearly disgust.

“What the hell would he have to gain by lying?” Joaquin defended himself. “It’s not like I lost him anything. We technically “both won the wager” and made the whole thing moot in the process. Maria said it herself, he still prefers me over the both of you.”

“Yes, but what would he have to gain by _helping_ , Joaquin?” Maria pointed out.

“I asked him myself, Maria. He said he owed someone a favor, and he wouldn’t go further than that. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Alright fine,” Maria raised her hands in surrender. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it now, it happened a year and a half ago. “Just, what did he do?”

“Well, the knife he used to cut Manolo is a sigil knife, and the reason it healed the way it did is because it’s not meant to cut skin. That ink is meant to be carved into bone, he told me.”

“What?” Manolo swallowed. Maria shared an alarmed look with him.

“Joaquin,” She said slowly, “Do you mean to say he…”

“Yeah.” Joaquin nodded solemnly, lightly tracing the bone around his left eye socket. “I didn’t want to be unconscious--I only trust him so much, guys--so he put me in a sort of...trance, so I wouldn’t really feel the pain. Still, not the most pleasant thing I’ve gone through.”

“He carved a...a sigil...into your bones...to do what exactly?” Manolo asked, horror plain in his features. Maria could share that horror: the idea of Joaquin, awake but not, with Xibalba quite literally _carving_ into him, that was a nightmare, not a favor. “Can you not see spirits anymore? Why is there no scar?”

“The knife is magic, Manolo. The wounds completely healed themselves, no scars. The only reason you have a scar is because it wasn’t used right.” Joaquin explained. “And, ah--no...I can still see things with my eye. But now they can’t see _me_. Nothing supernatural--no gods, no monsters, no ghosts--can see me unless I interact with them first. Like a shield, almost.”

“You should have told us this, amor!” Maria slapped the top of his hand lightly.

“You guys would have been really upset.” Joaquin cowered a little under her glare.

“Yes, we would have.” Manolo allowed. “But do you think we’d be that upset if you told us that you’re safe now, from all those invisible things that used to torture you?”

“You knew I had it under control, anyway.” Joaquin tried to wave it off.

“No, we knew you _didn’t_ , especially after we saved Luciana!” Manolo argued. This was something Maria couldn’t really contribute to. She had been taking care of Valentina and Teodoro at home while her boys went off travelling. She only knew that the night Joaquin and Manolo had located the bandits and the kidnapped women, Joaquin had been plagued by dead spirits to the extent that he nearly put both of their lives in jeopardy--and that was all; the two were very tight-lipped about the event. “Was protecting Xi--that _damned_ god more important than perhaps alleviating some of our worries!?”

“I’m sorry, Manolo. I just...I didn’t want you guys angry that he broke that promise.”Joaquin looked down guiltily, voice quiet.

Maria sighed.

"Priorities, amor," She patted his shoulder, "Some things are more important than others. You being safe? More important than the _trickster_ God breaking a promise. Okay?"

“Yeah…”He murmured. After a pause, he looked up again. “I just...I don’t understand why he used his sigil knife on you.”

“...Maybe it’s the only weapon he had on hand?” Maria suggested. “He said he was in a hurry.”

It would be nice to think that, instead of him taking the weapon with a darker intent.

“...Do you know if it’ll do anything, to Manny?” She asked, a little fearfully. Joaquin shook his head.

"No, not that I know of." He said, "It probably didn’t stain his neck because it wasn’t deep enough, but even then, it's no specific sigil or spell, so it shouldn't have any effect...but the scar might be permanent. And I don't know how long the pain will last. For me it...it was like I had a nasty black eye, and it lasted for about a week."

"I hope it doesn't last longer than that." Manolo winced. "I honestly still feel like I'm bleeding."

"Thank you for being honest, Joaquin." Maria squeezed his hand lightly.

"I should have been honest from the start; I'm sorry for that." He returned the squeeze.

Dr. Chavez cleared his throat from the doorway. They hadn’t even realized he had left in the first place. He carried a small bottle and a fresh set of bandages, both of which he handed to Manolo.

“I’m afraid, since the wound is closed, there is not much I can do but give you some aspirin for the pain.” He explained. “If you are willing, you can try numbing the area with ice, but, ah…” The doctor shrugged and shook his head. “Injuries of a...magical nature, they are a little past my expertise. My apologies.”

“It’s alright, Doctor,” Manolo took the proffered things gladly. He set the bottle aside and rewrapped the cut around his neck. “I highly doubt they could have taught you about magical sigil knives at any university. Thank you.”

“If the pain is still this intense after a week, I would recommend rethinking the corrida, Manolo.” Dr. Chavez advised. “And please try not to use bandages to bind your chest down.”

Manolo nodded in assent.

“The corrida, that’s right!” Joaquin smacked his forehead with his good hand. He looked out pleadingly to the doctor. “Do you think I’ll be alright enough to go?”

Dr. Chavez eyed Joaquin like a parent eyeing a child in trouble who just asked for dessert anyway.

“You have a broken leg and broken ribs.” Dr. Chavez said simply. “No.”

Joaquin deflated. “Come on, doc, the whole thing is for me to begin with, it won’t be the same if I’m not there.”

“Come on, guys.” He turned to his spouses, who were trying very hard not to giggle at his earnestness, “Back me up!”

“The doctor is right,” Manolo shrugged, “you’re awake, yes, but you need to keep recovering.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maria chimed in with a grin, “If he comes to the corrida, he can then come home, and we can take care of him from there. He _has_ been healing for a month now. But of course, I’m no doctor. I can’t have the final say.”

Well, the vote was split, but the doctor sighed, seeming to give in.

“Both Manolo and Maria are right, Joaquin,” There was a hint of exasperation in his tone, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “So, I’ll make a deal. You can go to the corrida, and after that I see it fit that Maria and Manolo can take over the rest of your recovery. However, for the next week up until then, _you_ are an obedient patient. When I say rest, you rest, and please, Joaquin, you are a grown man: no more sneaking your medicine behind the bed when you think I’m not looking.”

Maria slapped Joaquin’s arm lightly, huffing angrily as the soldier blushed (and Manolo guffawed).

“This also means no strenuous activity _whatsoever_. So no visitors, and that includes you two.”

All of the trio’s faces fell at that. No seeing Joaquin for a week? That would be hard.

“Not even the kids?” Joaquin asked petulantly.

“ _Especially_ the children. I understand that you miss them and that they miss you but they will tire you out more than the General would.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that. General Posada was worse at handling recovery (both his own and others’) than Joaquin was, and sometimes it seemed the General didn’t remember that Joaquin wasn’t invincible anymore. But his pushiness was without a doubt trumped by Valentina, Teodoro, and even Luciana’s excitement.

“Well,” Maria bit her lip, “it’s for the best, isn’t it? And it’ll all be worth it at the corrida next Friday.”

She smiled at Joaquin, and he smiled back, albeit melancholically.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I’ll make sure the performance is extra-special, Joako,” Manolo added, walking over as he buttoned his shirt back up. He winked, “Your jaw will drop.”

“I look forward to it,” Joaquin chuckled, before nodding to the doctor, “Alright, doc. It’s a deal.”

“Very well.” Dr. Chavez said. Then, with grin far too cheeky for a man his age:

“Alright you two. Out.”

“What?” Maria started. They had to leave Joaquin already?

“Aw, come...on…” Joaquin trailed off under the doctor’s gaze.

“What, you thought I was going to delay the deal by a day? If you’re going to the corrida, you need to take advantage of _all_ the time you have, comprende?”

All three of them shared a longing look. It was going to be a long week. It was Manolo who suddenly smiled again.

“Extra-special, Joaquin,” He leaned down and kissed the soldier’s temple. “I promise.”

Joaquin reached out--bad hand be damned--and rested his hand on Manolo’s hip. Manolo picked it up gently and kissed that too with a sly wink, and Maria couldn’t help but giggle at Joaquin’s blush.

“Te amo, amor.” Manolo said, before turning to leave.

“Te am--” Joaquin cut off with a little jump as Maria kissed his cheek. When she squeezed his hand he squeezed back.

“It’ll be the corrida before you know it.” She told him, standing up. “Te amo, querido.”

“Te amo también, mis amores.” Joaquin grinned.

It still hurt when the doctor closed the door, Joaquin on one side, Maria and Manolo on the other. It was barely a second before their hands found each other’s.

“This is going to be tough.” Manolo huffed, staring at the door like he could see Joaquin through it.

“The toughest part will be telling the children they can’t visit for a week.” Maria leaned on his shoulder.

“Oh, I don’t know, it might be easier.” He suddenly straightened and let go of Maria’s hand, resting it on his hip and pointing sternly. “You will behave or you won’t go to the corrida at all!”

Maria cackled at his poor attempt at being intimidating.

“Oh god, don’t pretend to be your father,” She shoved him teasingly, “You fail at it so miserably.”

“I can be a stern parent! Maybe not as stern as he was, but--hey, stop laughing! I can be stern.”

“Oh, querido, stern is _not_ your forte.” Maria tugged on Manolo’s hand, leading him down the stairs. Sure, she wouldn’t be able to see Joaquin for a week, but then she _would_ see him, and then he would be well and truly _home_. The thought put a smile on her face.

Laying low was the farthest thing from both of their minds as they both hopped out to the street.

“Come on, Manolo! To the corrida!” She laughed over her shoulder at him, and it was infectious: he laughed with her.

“To the corrida!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya heya! Sorry this chapter took so long to write, but it only took so long because it's the calm before the storm ;) It's going to be a while before the next update, since the next chapter is two parts and I won't publish until both are done. But don't worry! Holiday break is coming up for me soon, and then I'll have plenty of time to write!   
> Oh, and if anyone was curious: Dr. Chavez is very much a father figure to the three, even if they don't realize it; Dr. Chavez has one son currently studying medicine at the university in Mexico City (following the family footsteps heh) and it's safe to say he cares for the trio as much as he does for his own child.  
> Also, Maria and Manolo don't mention that Xibalba attacked them with his snake because a) it would freak out Manolo again and b) it would make Joaquin absolutely irate, and then Dr. Chavez would have an *incredibly* unruly patient on his hands. Joaquin is a terrible patient, 0/10 do not recommend.  
> Welp,  
> To the corrida!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I wanted to make a domestic AU and it just kind of snowballed and here we are with a big plot (and it's not totally domestic anymore lol). I actually really like writing in this universe I've created so besides this fic there'll be other stories set inside it. I'll be posting updates once a week for the first four weeks, but then updates will be more sporadic (sorry). Enjoy!  
> PS: If there are any errors in my Spanish or German, please don't hesitate to message me with corrections! It's pretty much all coming from Google translate, so I never know if what I have is really correct or not.


End file.
